~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slumped in his computer chair, Broots sighed under his breath and continued the cycle of data searches that were his daily grind. Silently, he prayed for something to appear, no matter how insignificant or outdated, that might give them a new lead on Jarod, not because he really believed in everyone else's reasons for the chase anymore, (if he ever had), but because it might pull his mahogany haired superior out of her most recent "if there's a black cloud over my head, it rains on everybody" turn of mood.

Suddenly, the numbers and sentences scrolling down his screen vanished, only to be replaced moments later by a simplistic repeating image of two silhouettes fencing against a slowly drifting, multi-colored background and underscored with the words "For Your Eyes Only." Manna from heaven Broots thought, grinning. It could only be Jarod. He rejoiced that, finally, he had something for Miss Parker that was worth risking his life to tell her about.

"Miss Parker. Can... you come take a look at this?"

"If this isn't a national emergency, Broots, I swear what's left of your hair will be mine. Slowly. With tweezers. One... piece... at a time." she warned in a low growl as she moved to stand behind his chair.

As he knew was prudent, he kept his mouth shut and simply pointed at the screen.

"God I'm getting so sick of his games! He begs me to leave him alone, but he keeps teasing me with these moronic computer messages! The day I finally do catch Brainiac, I'm having both his hands cut off so he never does this to anyone else. What the hell is this... supposed to..." Her words faltered and faded out as she took a second, harder look at the screen and finally absorbed its true meaning, one intended only for her.

"Miss Parker? Did you figure out something?"

Broots received his answer immediately as Parker snatched him from his chair by the back of his collar and propelled him towards the door.

"Out. You too, Sydney. Go find a German Shepard to psychoanalyze. This concerns a top secret project."

Reluctantly, both men moved out into the hallway.

"What's going on Sydney? She hasn't so much as cracked a smile in two weeks and now she's sitting in there staring at the screen and grinning like a nutcase."

"What was the message about?"

"It wasn't really a message. Just a real simple graphic and the words "For your eyes only." What is there in that that could possibly turn her mood around this fast?"

"I don't know. Let's just be grateful for the change, shall we, and give her some privacy. I trust that if it turns out to be anything we need to know, she'll tell us."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Don't bitch, Daddy. You're the one who taught me that being a Parker means never having to explain yourself or your actions. I'm taking some time off. That's all anyone needs to know. You'll approve it or you'll get it approved. You always do."

Dredging a last puff from her cigarette, Miss Parker twisted it brutally into shreds in the ashtray, stood and prepared to make her usual "treading on the peons" exit. "Hopefully by that time I'll be at least two hours away from here, half-way through an ancient bottle of scotch and light years from any thoughts of my job or the depression factory this place has become lately." she intoned, vague contempt showing in her eyes and a rare trace of a genuine smile briefly gaining control of her mouth before she slid another cigarette between her lips.

Rising from his chair a moment later, her father moved slowly to her side, a forthcoming lecture evident in his expression as he ushered his daughter to the door.

"You do know you're on the verge of an official reprimand about those... things, don't you? Did you think noone noticed the way you deliberately light up around Doctor Raines? You crushed one out on his oxygen tank day before yesterday, for God sakes, and for the past week you've been tossing lit butts in his not so general direction every time you see him. I think you've forgotten that proper discretion is what's kept you and I breathing and free from mortal wounds this long."

Halting abruptly in her tracks, his daughter whirled on him, eyes blazing with an intensity he'd never witnessed before.

"Big Chief Gasping-For-Air can go tell horror stories to Darth Vader and the Emperor by a cozy campfire in hell. And as for you, I'd suggest you learn the difference between discretion and ignoring the guy with the hockey mask and the knife, before someone brings the hammer down on you like yo... like it came down on Mother and the Triumvirate decides it's no longer prudent for you to... keep breathing."

Feeling her stress level drop several points, Parker said her goodbyes, dropped a perfunctory kiss near her father's cheek, wafted a significant cloud of smoke directly at a surveillance camera and took her leave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You... You're just going? You're leaving without notifying anyone? How is that even possible right now? The three of us are never out of sight of security anymore. Lately I get the feeling somebody's keeping count of how many hairs I lose every day."

"Just another difference between you and me Broots. I was learning how to cultivate influence and turn it to my advantage while you were figuring out which shoe went on which foot."

"You know, someday you and I will find time to go through that anger management course I'm always promising you, Miss Parker." Sydney remarked, smiling lightly.

"Thanks, a whole heap Syd, but I like my anger. I feed on my anger. Nothing more satisfying than reveling in a fit of pure rage and beating the hell out of someone who really deserves it."

Turning back to the computer, Broots tried to ignore the opening Parker had left him, but wasn't able to resist for long.

"If that's your idea of fun, I'd hate to be the guy showin' up at your door for a date."

Knowing something was coming, Broots was able to brace himself so that the hard slap Parker delivered to the back of his head wasn't quite as bad as it might have been. "Hey. It's fallin' out fast enough on its own. It doesn't need any help."

"You don't know how lucky you are I'm in a good mood. If this were a typical day you wouldn't have a head left. I'm out of here, Syd. Remember. Wherever you are when they come looking for me..."

"You're somewhere else."

"I can always count on you, Sydney."

"Wait. Why won't you, at least, tell us where you're going? What am I supposed to do if I need to get in touch with you?"

"The only thing you'll need to talk to me about is Jarod, and I doubt even he would be uncouth enough to interrupt the first vacation I've had in eight years. Besides. Even I'm not sure where this trip will lead me just yet, and I want it to stay that way for awhile."

"And you'll be back...."

"When I walk through the door." Parker shot over her shoulder as she strolled toward the elevator that would take her to the parking garage, her car and whatever lay ahead. A yard or two from the doors, a familiar, and despised, shudder racked her frame. Over the years she had learned how to hide it well, so the men watching her go noticed nothing but, perhaps, a tiny hesitation in her gait.

She punched the down button and stepped back, her system on the edge of overload. Incensed at herself, Parker viciously fought her terror and the self-hatred engendered by the mere presence of that emotion. She gazed down at her hands, watching them tremble for only a split second before she was able to bring them under control again.

All this she was, by now, able to conceal very easily from the outside world. Despite what, or who, her body and mind tried to tell her was waiting for her in the elevator, all anyone else would see was a strong, ultra-confident woman striding into the small steel box; a top Centre operative who often put the fear of God into others, but kept her own private horrors deeply buried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{Finally,} Parker sighed, refocusing her sapphire eyes on the asphalt ahead as she expertly steered her car through a particularly challenging stretch of road, {finally I'm starting to wind down. It's taken three days but it's damn well been worth it. I really had no clue how badly I needed this. I can't wait to see how this trip turns out. Too bad I can't skip to the end of the book, but then I'd be depriving him of his fun. Can't very well do that.}

Reveling in the luxury of the convertible she had rented for the journey, Miss Parker sprinted down the South Carolina coastline, the trees she passed filtering the late morning sunlight into swiftly changing patterns on a paintjob nearly the exact shade of her hair. As usual, her speedometer read fifteen miles over the speed limit and, also as usual, she wasn't paying enough attention to care, perceiving things like cops and tickets to be only minor nuisances that were always handled by the Centre.

Despite her stated wishes when talking to her father earlier, the three bottles of vintage whiskey she carried remained sealed and secure in her bags, which were carefully stowed in the trunk.

As she slid a little further down in her seat, relishing the stillness and serenity settling deeper into her with every minute, she realized, to her great surprise, that she was only on her third cigarette in nearly as many hours of travel, confirming her long held suspicion that she really only smoked as a release valve for the pressures of her job.

Not for the first time in recent months, she let her mind drift through the many self-help and professional stop-smoking options she had heard of, been offered or actually tried, but quickly reminded herself that there were probably at least thirty people, if not more, who, though her frustration often tempted her sorely, she had not beaten to a pulp because she had had her no-filter best buddies to turn to. This understanding eventually drove all thought of not smoking out of her mind, as it always did.

Scanning the highway signs in the distance she quickly found the one she needed, slid the car into the correct lane with practiced ease and made her way toward Charleston airport.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER: WASHINGTON STATE

"You're absolutely mad. I've always known that, I think, but you just confirmed it."

"Mad for her. Nothing wrong with that."

"Half a hundred people must have seen that message by now. How could you even think...."

"Methos. Drop it, okay? It's done. I guarantee she's the only one who saw it or ever will see it. He gave me the instructions on deleting anything so it can never be retrieved, and I gave them to her. Right now the message is buried in the ninth level of hell. We're perfectly safe and so is she."

"After what you told me about her, I'm a great deal more concerned about
us than her."

"You know damn well that those people would kill her like stepping on an
ant and give it less thought."

"Of course I do, but...."

"And you know me as well as anyone ever has."

"Sometimes I wonder."

"You know me." Macleod repeated with emphasis, waiting for the answer he wanted.

"Yes, of course."

"Then what makes you think I'd ever put her in danger?"

"I never said you would. It's her bosses that terrify me. Until I discovered that place I thought I'd seen the worst one mortal could do to another. Those people make Josef Mengele look like a bloody saint. And there is a point you seem to be, very conveniently, ignoring. She's one of them."

"She used to be. Jarod thinks he's finally getting to her. His theory is that once he destroyed a few of their lies for her, she started to see them for herself, without so much help from him."

"You're fooling yourself, mate. She lived that sickness from the time she could walk. It's all she knows. If she ever did accept the truth about what the Centre really is, what they do, she wouldn't have a leg to stand on. It'd be like bombing the foundation of a house. Everything collapses into a ten-foot hole. What if she can't climb out of that hole, Mac? What if every truth she learns is one more stick of... TNT in the underpinnings of that young woman's emotional and psychological stability? If Jarod does succeed in completely pulling off her blindfold, that could be the match to the fuse."

"You never met her. How can you even guess at how strong she is? He knows her backwards, forwards and inside out, her breaking points included."

"Do you?"

"I only met her twice. Why would I?"

"If you're determined to help him with this insane con-game, you have to know her almost as well as he does. If I were you, I'd take that dossier he sent you, go in a quiet room and start studying."

"I looked it over. Trust me. I'm ready."

"No. You aren't. Knowing what to do and say is only half the tennis match. You have to understand what not to do and say. The wrong word at the wrong moment of extreme stress could unravel everything you're trying to accomplish, and do a thorough Humpty Dumpty on her as well. As I understand the point of this little exercise, it is not for this Miss Parker to end up drooling on herself in a nursing home somewhere."

Hefting the manila envelope containing the dossier, Macleod's expression darkened considerably. He paused for a moment, as the weight of what he held in his hands transformed into a heavier understanding of what he and Jarod were about to do, then turned and headed for his bedroom, tucking the papers under his arm as he went.

"If you don't see me by six, order dinner in. You're buying."

"Of course. What else? The man never picked up a check in his life. Why should he start now?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW HOURS LATER: DALLAS. TEXAS

"I'll take your bags ma'mm. This way please."

"Hold it. My bags don't go with anyone not in an airport uniform."

"Pardon me, ma'mm. I should have introduced myself. I'm Seth and my employer is the gentleman who owns that Lear right over there. I was sent to make sure you made it to the plane safely and provide you with whatever you might need while we're in flight."

Although her instincts were beginning to whisper warnings, she ignored them until they grew quiet, knowing she had let herself be drawn much too far into the game to beg off now, even had she wanted to.

"What about the..."

"Your car will be perfectly safe. It and the keys will be waiting for you when you return."

Growing more and more intrigued, but realizing that someone somewhere probably had a schedule to keep, Parker dug in her bag for her wallet, handed the young man a credit card and headed for the jet.

"That will cover all rental fees while I'm gone." she tossed lightly over her shoulder, slowing a little as the mystery man caught up to her and slipped the card back into her purse.

"That's alright, ma'mm. There won't be any. The car belongs to you now. My employer's been in contact with your rental agency. They were told that whatever automobile you chose to rent he would pay the agency the full blue book value of. The papers are waiting for you on the plane."

Abruptly, Miss Parker stopped dead in her tracks and waited for the porter to notice. After an additional step or two, he did.

"Is something the matter, ma'mm?"

"Explain."

"Do you enjoy the car, ma'mm?"

"Of course I enjoy the car." she responded after a brief pause.

"Then what more explanation do you really need? My employer merely wanted to compensate you for your gracious agreement to come on this trip."

Shaking her head slightly, Parker began walking again. Once on the plane and safely belted in, she searched for and found copies of the convertible's registration, insurance and title in a pocket on the aisle side of her seat. She looked them over carefully, noting the correct information in the correct places on each form.

Her instincts began to tug at her again, their voices quite loud now, and for the first time since she had received the message four days ago, she began to pay attention. Within moments however, she found herself fighting a series of deep yawns she couldn't stop. Assuming it was nothing but the natural effects of three days of hard driving, she surrendered to sleep less than twenty minutes later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"My, you listen well. I've told you probably a hundred times now that I want nothing whatsoever to do with this preposterous.... whatever it is that you two are cooking up."

"It has to be you. I already explained that." the younger man mumbled, his attention focused on the meal he was preparing.

"Am I the only acquaintance of yours that this woman hasn't seen? No. Does it really, therefore, have to be me who risks a bullet in the back of the head picking this woman up at the airport? No."

"I never do anything without a good reason."

"And this time..."

"I actually have several. One; I would ask Joe but I don't want him involved in this if it isn't absolutely necessary, two; she loves a U.K. accent and three, she lands in forty-five minutes" Macleod responded, gently taste-testing the broth he was concocting, "so there isn't time to call anyone else."

Carefully cleaning his fingers, he tossed the car keys and his wallet to his friend. "Take one of the credit cards and rent a limo. Nothing too top-of-the-line but don't make me look like a skinflint either. There's a uniform in my closet and the map is on the bookcase on your way out. And don't even think of playing big spender on my money just to get back at me. I expect my car and my wallet back today, not three days from now like after the last fight we had!" Mac shouted towards the bedroom where Methos was retrieving the dark suit and hat necessary to play his part convincingly. As he passed the stove where Mac was working, Methos went into a creditable drag queen impression.

"Now, sweetie. You know I wasn't really mad at you. Shopping just makes me crazy. I lose all track of time when I'm trying to decide which pair of lace undies my teddy bear would like to see me in the most."

Kissing Macleod soundly on both cheeks he flounced out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER

Just over six hours after she had first stepped onto a commercial jet in South Carolina, Parker was shaken awake, none too gently, by the touchdown and braking efforts of the Lear as it, and she, arrived at their destination. Slowly dragging herself upright from the position she'd slid into in sleep, she scrubbed her eyes with her palms briefly, grimaced as she stretched out the kinks and tried to push back the slight headache she'd developed, then reached for the window shade to get a first look at her new environment, but the plastic square wouldn't move. Bewildered, she tried several more times, before literally punching the call button above her seat, bringing her baggage handlermajor domo to her side within minutes.

"We should be ready for you to disembark in just a few moments, ma'mm. Is there something you need before then?"

"To know where the hell I am. I..."

"Yes, ma'mm. I see your dilemma. The window shades are always kept locked down electronically for security reasons. This beauty has transported some very well known people who treasure the privacy we can provide. Even if the shades were operational, it wouldn't do you much good I'm afraid. This is a private airstrip, very nondescript; no landmarks or such things nearby." the man explained, cocking his head as if listening closely to something virtually silent.

"I believe we've stopped, ma'mm. If you'd like to gather your things, I'll head up front and assist the crew with the doors. By the time you get to your limousine, your luggage should already be there."

Her razor sharp mind now kicking back into gear, Parker considered voicing several of the million and one questions that were swiftly coalescing into an interrogation diagram in her head. Instead, knowing she usually got answers when she wanted them, she decided the potential for an amazing few days with her Scottish mystery man was more important, gathered her handbag with the car papers inside and strolled out the door of the plane.

As she drew closer to the waiting stretch limo, Parker slowed a bit, giving herself an extra moment or two to study the man positioned behind the already open rear door. She noticed nothing particularly unusual about him until she was within a step or two of the car. There she was forced to stop, her expression registering deep shock and confusion, as if she had suddenly been confronted with a wall she could feel and sense but not see. The man exuded an aura of power and wisdom that flowed from him like steam, the intensity of it almost enough to knock her flat. Her mind went numb, unable to provide her with a simple clear thought, never mind a reasonable explanation for what she was experiencing. Her legs following the lead of her brain, Parker began to back away, stopping only when she was certain she had gotten beyond the limo driver's bizarre sphere of influence. Turning away for a moment, she gathered her wits and calmed her breathing before facing the man again.

"What in the name of God are you?"

"Pardon? I'm afraid I don't understand. Are you alright? You're white as a sheet. There's a fully stocked bar in the limo if you..."

"Understand? Noone could possibly.... Why don't you go get in the driver's seat? I'm sure I can close the door myself."

"Are you sure, Miss Parker? If you're ill I should get you to a doctor...."

"I'm fine. Just go." she directed, not daring to move until he was safely on the other side of the car. "If I do happen to want something that isn't here, who do I ask for?"

"The name's Adam, miss. Just use the page feature on the car phone if you need anything." Methos responded as he slipped into the driver's position, his mind whirling with confusion over what had just occurred.

"All I need right now is a drink and a little peace and quiet. Later on might be a different story."

"Of course, miss. Sit back and enjoy the ride. The drive shouldn't even take an hour if I've figured it right. As long as no complications pop up, we should be there well before nightfall."

Quietly closing the window that separated the driver and passenger compartments, Methos started the engine and maneuvered the unwieldy vehicle out through the gate in the chain link fence and onto the highway, his thoughts still refusing to settle on anything but her reaction to his presence and the possible repercussions on what Mac and Jarod had planned. Feeling more and more ill at ease with what he had seen, he slipped his cell phone from his pocket and rapidly dialed Mac's private line.

"Hello."

"Prepare yourself, my friend. We need to have a long talk when I get back."

"You sound shook up. What happened? Is she..."

"She's right here. Everything's on schedule. Well... almost everything."

"Almost. Is this one of those times when I should be really afraid of that word?"

"I don't know yet, but I'd say it's a damn good wager. I'll see you soon."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's impossible. You know damn well it's impossible."

"Say it enough times and maybe you'll start to believe it. I'm telling you she knew." Methos repeated, pacing towards the windows that faced the street. "Admittedly, she had to get a lot closer than you or I would have, but the result was the same. I've seen it too many times not to recognize it when it's right in front of me." he insisted, turning to march back toward Macleod; running his hands through his hair, his face a clear study in brooding concern.

"She knows something odd happened. Nothing more. Relax, will you? Everything's been flawless so far. We got her to the house. Now Jarod and I take over. Nothing else to do."

"Yes. Well, I did my part, pal. I'm out of it. Matter of fact, I think I'll fly to Las Vegas and stay completely blotto until this thing is over."

"Have a good time. Stay in contact so I can let you know when she's on her way home."

As he gathered his own coat from the living room closet, Methos threw his friend a withering glare.

"If she ends up in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest- Part II" don't bother. This is one time I truly want to be wrong."

"You are. She'll be fine."

"I hope so, mate. You and Mr. Mensa hold that woman's mind in your hands. Don't drop it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLUE COVE:

"I promise you that I don't know. She strolled in here, declared she was going on a vacation and refused to give me any details. Yes. I understand that, but... Yes, of course the rest of the team is still working on.... No, I didn't fight her on it or order her not to go. Because I see her every day, and I know what the stress has been doing to her lately. When she begins to intentionally antagonize Raines, she needs time off. I agreed with her decision. Yes. I'll deliver the message when she returns."

Fighting an intense desire to throw the entire phone across the room, Mister Parker dropped the receiver softly into its cradle, bringing an end to the sixth call he'd received in four days demanding to know his daughter's whereabouts. He knew he had to find her soon, or he risked censure and she risked being placed firmly in Jarod's shoes. Rising quickly, he walked out to the elevators, intent on paying another visit to his daughter's two constant companions and determined that this trip would be more fruitful than the last one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sydney."

"Please come in, sir. I'm afraid there's been no news. Miss Parker hasn't been heard from since she drove out of the gates three days ago. Have a seat, won't you?"

"I understand that, Sydney. If there had been any sign, the calls I've been receiving would have stopped by now. What I want to hear about is the day she left. I want every detail of every moment she spent in this room before she came to see me that afternoon. Every detail, no matter how insignificant."

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir. It was a normal day." Sydney deferred, offering the older man a cigar, even going so far as to light it for him. "Perhaps she was a bit more subdued than usual. I've noticed she hasn't quite been herself of late."

"On the contrary. She's been more herself than usual. That's what has me worried."

"If I were forced to put a label on it, I'd say she's been mildly depressed. She's had good reason. The search for Jarod isn't going well and her mother's death has been preying on her mind much more than usual in the past few weeks. In my professional opinion, she took this trip at exactly the right time. The depression would only have worsened if she'd stayed."

"My daughter doesn't get depressed. She gets stronger; more determined. Walking away like this... it isn't like her. I want to know where she went, Sydney."

"As I said, sir, nothing at all unusual occurred the day she left. I'm afraid Miss Parker told us no more than she told you. I can only guess that she simply needed time away. We all do occasionally."

After staring intently at Sydney for several moments, the other man tapped a pile of ash off his cigar and rose from his chair.

"You know more than you're saying Sydney. If she isn't back within forty-eight hours, we'll talk again."

"What makes you think I'd keep anything from you?"

"You're a brilliant man. All brilliant men know enough to maintain some secrets."

"I care for your daughter as deeply as you do. I would never knowingly keep your chi..."

Suddenly flushed, Sydney silently acknowledged the words that had been about to leave his lips, and forced them back down his throat, painfully aware that Mister Parker knew perfectly well what he'd been about to say.

"We all do what we do knowingly, Sydney, even you. Regret is unproductive and so is sanctimonious wailing over things too far in the past to worry about. Focus on the present. Your job is not to sympathize with Jarod or the others. Your job is to comply with your orders and achieve results."

"And your job?"

"The future. I have a vested interest in the ultimate survival of the Centre and I will not let Jarod destroy everything that I and the others have sacrificed so much for. Forty-eight hours. Find her for me, Sydney."

Turning on his heel, the older man strolled out of the room, smoke trailing lazily behind him. Sydney watched him for several minutes before sliding open the center drawer of his desk and retrieving the journal he had begun not long after he had recovered his sight. Grabbing a pen from the same drawer, he began jotting notes to himself in an ancient language he read and wrote fluently, but that he was fairly sure noone staring at a security monitor would be able to decipher.

[ What about Catherine's sacrifice? Did she die for your ambition or for someone else's agenda? I wish I could believe any of us will ever discover all the answers that will let us sleep without benefit of nightmares. The Centre does some little good still, but I can't allow myself the luxury of ignoring the depth of corruption here any longer. The rot has set in, and I think I can see where this will all end. Surprise, Mr. Parker. I'm discovering my own vested interest. Jarod remaining on the outside may be the true key to bringing down our little corner of Hell. He must stay free. I must see to it. ]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER:

In sharp contrast to Methos' deep concern for her welfare, Miss Parker, in just the few hours since her arrival at the house, had managed to push the incident at the airstrip completely from her head in favor of exploring her surroundings.

Now, after an excellent meal, and with the dregs of a superior bottle of red wine at her hip, she lazed by a low fire, top-quality headphones delivering her favorite Chopin sonata, her eternally on-guard body releasing the last of its tension into the pillows succoring her shoulders and low back.

For the last forty minutes or so she had been debating whether to add one more stick of wood to the fire, part of her wanting the moment to last, the fire to continue; the other part deeply enjoying the near hypnotic relaxation that often accompanies watching a fire die. In the end she chose to allow it to fall to embers while she drifted in and out of a pleasant, light stupor, her eyes following the perpetual ebb and flow of ruddy light among the coals with increasing effort.

Once he was certain her eyes had slid shut in true sleep and wouldn't open again easily, Jarod slipped out of the shadows and glided to her side. Silently moving the wine bottle a safe distance away, he knelt by her and drew a soft cloth from his pocket. Dampening it slightly with the liquid from the vial he carried with him, he gently pressed the fabric over her mouth and nose. Although she struggled vainly, the wine and her tranquil state betrayed her, as Jarod had hoped would happen. Her body unprepared to fight the chemical onslaught, Parker surrendered in mere seconds and tumbled into profound darkness.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOLLOWING MORNING-- BLUE COVE:

Fuming, Mister Parker stared at the ringing phone, deeply resentful at the interruption to his work. Although he was strongly reluctant to answer it, he knew who was on the other end and also knew the consequences if he didn't pick it up. He allowed the annoying device to buzz once more, then threw down his pen and grabbed the handset, carefully tempering all irritation from his voice before he spoke.

"Good morning. What can I do for you?"

"That's gracious of you, but I think you've done more than enough for me and to me already, don't you?" Jarod responded lightly.

"Jarod? What the..."

"Very good. I didn't really expect you to recognize my voice. We never saw each other all that much."

"Sydney and my daughter may tolerate your games, son, but I'm not them. Can I take this call to mean you've seen the error of your ways and you're ready to come home?"

"You know better than that. I hope you also know better than to try and trace this call. It won't do you any good."

"Yes. I know that all too well." he tossed back, his hand halted in mid-air, halfway to the button that would have begun the futile trace. "Look, my boy. If you haven't changed your attitude, then get to the point would you? I have work to do."

"I imagine you do." Jarod replied darkly. "I just wanted to let you know that she's alright. She'll be out of contact for another few days, but she's alive and whole and I promise you she'll stay that way."

The hair at the nape of his neck suddenly stiffening, Mister Parker straightened in his chair, his full attention now on his caller.

"She? Who are we talking about, Jarod?"

"Now who's playing games? I've done my duty. You'll get another call once she's on her way back to you."

Jarod disconnected without another word, leaving the Centre's CEO arguing with the dial tone and studying the receiver numbly. After several minutes of stunned silence and bewilderment, he shook himself out of his lethargy, dug out a small black personal phone directory and began to dial.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER: MID-AFTERNOON

Late that afternoon, Parker woke to the sounds of a heating system kicking in somewhere in the walls of the room where she lay waiting for full consciousness to re-establish permanent residence in her brain.

Gradually her senses whirred back into gear and began giving her a better sense of where she was and what was happening. Carefully sliding her eyes open, she quickly realized that she was still in the silk penoir set she had worn the night before, but someone had thoughtfully added a velvet robe and heavy socks to her ensemble. Pushing herself upright on the firm mattress she threw off the heavy quilt that had been laid over her and proceeded to make a thorough search of the vaguely familiar room in which she had awakened.

It took only a few moments to complete a circuit of the tiny space. She found nothing that would give her any clue to how she had gotten there; the room contained only her bed, a chair, a large table and a nightstand with a cell phone, screened off bathroom facilities and her luggage neatly tucked into a corner. A full set of clean clothes had been laid carefully over the back of the chair and the outfit she had worn on the plane was nowhere to be found. In deference to the mild hangover that was just starting to announce its presence, she took one last look around, then walked back to the bed and sat down heavily.

When her stomach and head finally stopped whirling, she rose cautiously and wandered over to the door, intending to make her way into the main house and find a few answers and a bathroom with a medicine cabinet. After closely examining the door, however, she immediately realized that an upset stomach was by far the least of her problems.

Panic just beginning to surface in the nether regions of her mind, Parker mentally stomped it flat and quickly ran her hands over every inch of the smooth surface she could reach, searching for a tiny crack, flaw or defect that might be the key to her release. Finding nothing, she stepped back, turning in a slow circle. Though she fought against it with all the hate and anger she possessed, the realization of why the room had, at first, seemed subtly familiar finally hit her. She had stood in one like it many times before. With the understanding came a rage and a terror such as she had never felt before.

For several minutes she stalked the room, punching, pounding and kicking her helplessness and fury into the walls and door until she ended up crouched in the middle of the small space, head down, cradling bruised hands and recovering her breath. Her rage now consumed, the fear took over. Suddenly thrust into the reality of a world she had always felt a part of as a girl, but had never truly been allowed to touch, her conscious mind recoiled then shut down completely. Backing into the edge of the bed frame, her knees failed her and she collapsed. Scrambling fully onto the bed, her legs tucked close to her body, she clutched for the discarded quilt, wrapped it loosely around her and allowed her eyes to close as she tried to control the shivering that wracked her body.

Somehow, Jarod had recreated a detailed replica of the Centre cubicles where he and hundreds of other Pretenders had slept, eaten and simulated their way through the past thirty or so years. Somehow, he had learned about her encounters with the enigmatic martial arts master and had used the information to tease her into walking into a situation of his making; one where he felt he might finally regain some small measure of what had been stolen from him by stealing her freedom from her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"Good afternoon. Hello? Is anyone there? Jarod?"

"Hello, Sydney. I suppose you've heard by now."

"Of course. I won't ask for an explanation. I trust you have your reasons and I know you won't harm her."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I should warn you; the intensity of the search for you has been stepped up considerably. If anything does happen to her..."

"You said it yourself, Sydney. I could never hurt her. Besides, I'm working with a professional."

Curiosity sparking in his voice with each word, Sydney gave in to the demands of his ever-inquisitive mind.

"I know I said I wouldn't ask, but..."

"It's alright. You were always the only one I told my secrets to. Why stop now? It's all a matter of holes, Sydney. Gaps in the soul. Slowly but surely, I'm filling in all mine. It's only right I do the same for her."

"You've been helping her immensely from a distance for years now. What changed?"

"Everything. I found out that our Miss Parker isn't what, or who, she thinks she is. Once I fill in a few of those holes, she'll understand. After that, we'll just have to wait and see."

"I think I need a translator." Sydney joked, chuckling lightly. "For once, you're being too cryptic even for me."

"New information requires a new battle plan, Sydney. Keep an eye on your mail and keep trusting me. Give my regards to Broots."

"I will. Take care, my friend."

"Always."

Flipping his cell phone closed, Jarod turned to the lean dark Scot sitting beside him and studied him for a long moment, assessing his mood.

"Last chance. You're positive you can do this?"

"Absolutely. Has she calmed any yet?"

"Some, but not as much as I'd like. We'll give her another ten minutes." Jarod replied, glancing briefly at the monitor carrying the camera feed from the cubicle. "It's strange to see her like this. I was ready for the anger, but..."

"Fear is a powerful weapon. Thank God she's had survival drilled into her almost from birth. Waking up in there could have turned anybody's mind into so much shredded wheat."

"Anyone but her."

"We hope. I think I know her pretty well, now. I just wish... I hate to ask, but can I see it again?"

Absentmindedly Jarod reached for the case that held his collection of DSA's and the viewer, but hesitated at the last moment, old shame and his own fears rearing their ugly heads. Reminding himself that Macleod had already seen some of the most horrifying disks of the lot, Jarod pushed away the memories and pulled the case up onto the table, opening it and turning it so that his friend would be able to see clearly, but the images would be hidden from his view. Pressing a nearly invisible latch he swung the side of the case open, revealing a single DSA resting in a small niche. Slipping it into the activation slot, the younger man rose and walked away from his recent discovery, trying to block out the audio, as well as the video, that the machine was producing, fresh pain and anger for the young girl on the screen piercing his heart.

[ "What is she doing here, Catherine? She should have been delivered to SL27 long ago. I wanted her settled in by now."

"Was the Tower's directive not clear enough for you?"

"I understood every word, *Doctor* Raines, but I refuse to allow my daughter to become part of whatever repugnant, sadistic experiment you happen to be conducting at the moment. My husband may have to grovel at the feet of the Triumvirate, but I don't. She stays with me."

"I trust you read the report. Of course you did or you wouldn't be here now. The results were conclusive. Your daughter is one of the most promising candidates I've ever seen. In time, I think she could even outshine that wunderkind Sydney's been working with, but her potential can only be developed here. You can take her to her room, Mrs. Parker, or I can have her escorted there. Either way, she's Centre property now. She has no choice in the matter, and neither do you. What will it be? Will you see her to her new home or not? I should think she'd much prefer to go with you than with Security, but it's your choice of course."

"I told you. She isn't going anywhere."

"Catherine... The matter is settled, angel..." ]

Still as affected as ever, watching for the fourth time in two days, Macleod forced himself not to turn his eyes away as the final scene on the disk played itself out.

On the other side of the room Jarod leaned into a wall, tensing as his emotional revulsion became physical, struggling against the bile rising in his throat as the images he already knew so well ran through his head once again.

Catherine Parker asking to have her daughter brought to her, begging to be allowed to say goodbye.

Catherine Parker professing her everlasting love for her child, then thrusting that same child into the arms of her husband, her voice deeply bitter as she demands that he be the one to collect the thirty pieces of silver for the proposed sacrifice of his own flesh and blood, her heels clicking as she runs from the office.

Abruptly, the sounds of the actual recording broke into Jarod's reverie.

[ "Sweetness, you wait outside for Daddy alright? I'll be through here in just a few minutes, and then we'll have that adventure I promised."

"Okay, Daddy."

"Good girl. Close the door. She'll never survive here, Raines."

"The tests are conclusive. There's nothing more to say."

"To hell with the tests! Use common logic, man. It will never work. She and Catherine are too close. Catherine will never let her go while there's a breath in her body."

"I believe that problem is being solved as we speak." ]

Hands fisted at his sides, Jarod decided he wouldn't let the disk finish this time. Stalking quickly back to the table, he pulled the DSA from the slot and restored it to its hiding place before either of them could once more be subjected to the sharp report of the gun or the deeply disturbing image of a fierce young girl struggling against arms much larger and stronger than she.

Glancing at the other man, Jarod saw only his friend's broad back. Despite his resolve, Macleod had been unable to keep his eyes on the small screen, anticipating the same ending he had experienced three times before. Deeply relieved that he would not have to listen to the last few seconds of audio again, the Scot drew a deep, quiet breath and swiveled back around in the chair.

"I still can't decide whether to be more grateful I knocked this thing off my kitchen counter and sprung that panel, or more nauseated over what we found. At the moment, nauseated's winning."

"I told you, I'm glad it happened. It gives me an edge I didn't have before; with her and after this is over. If it doesn't succeed, I'll still have the disk. I can try something else."

"I'm glad you're glad. I'm trying to get there. I just can't, yet."

"Don't bother. Just make sure you're ready. It's past time to get things started." Jarod prompted, gripping the other's shoulder for a moment on his way to the kitchen.

"Right. You'll be watching?"

"Off and on. I'll study the tapes later. For now, it's your show. I'll have dinner and a beer for you when you're done."

"Make it two."

"Two it is."

Halfway out of the room, Macleod halted and turned when Jarod called his name from the kitchen doorway.

"Did I forget something?"

"No. I did. I've only found a handful of people in my life I trusted. I mean, really trusted with things that were precious to me. I trust you, Duncan Macleod. You've seen the ledge she's standing on. Don't let her fall."

Caught off guard, Macleod started to speak, to thank his new companion for his faith in him, but found his own demons choking off his words; the demons that reappeared each time he dared to befriend one not of his own kind. They gleefully reminded him that he had accepted the trust of many men and women before, mortal and immortal, and taunted him with the memory of his one great love, whispering that he had utterly failed her at her moment of greatest need.

Knowing Jarod would, someday, become as ageless as he was did nothing to ease the constriction in his throat; he understood all too well the additional commitments and stresses immortality would place on a young man who already bore a great number of unspeakable burdens. Part of him wished he could be there when his new friend finally learned the truth, to witness what a rare being like him might make of the next hundred years or so, but the greater part didn't envy Jarod in the slightest.

Unable to articulate his gratitude for Jarod's trust in him, the Scot simply smiled lightly, nodded and strode off to begin his work with their beautiful captive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Checking a second monitor just outside her cell, Macleod was surprised to note the changes she had made in just the few minutes that he and Jarod had been distracted with the DSA viewer. She was now fully dressed and had artfully arranged herself in the chair that sat by the larger table.

Arms crossed over her chest, her arresting face devoid of emotion, she struck him as nothing more than a successful business executive, suffering the imbeciles of the world with quiet dignity as she waited serenely for the next opportunity to present itself. Whether she was expecting a cross-town bus or the end of the world, however, was something one would never be able to tell by simply looking at her.

Retrieving the basket he had placed by his feet, he pulled a keyless remote from his pocket, entered the unlock code, replaced the device and entered the room, pushing the door closed again behind him.

Sensing his slow approach from across the room, Parker stole a glance through her lashes at the man she had held such high hopes for only twenty-four short hours ago. Realizing, now, that he must have had a hand in her abduction from the start, she lowered her gaze and smoothed all expression from her face.

As he drew close, to her chagrin and profound surprise, she began to experience a much more modest repeat of the sensation that had stricken her at the airstrip, this time marked chiefly by an abrupt deepening of the pain centered behind her eyes and a significant increase in the roiling in her stomach. As the Centre had trained her to do in such situations, she drove her discomfort as far down as was necessary for her to be able to think clearly and logically, and focused instead on the over six-foot tall question mark that had plopped himself down not five feet from where she sat.

Perched on the edge of the table, Macleod placed the basket in front of her and did his best to mirror her self-possessed, aloof facade. Through the next ten minutes he remained calm, remained silent, knowing his patience was the key to opening her up and, ultimately, to the success of Jarod's plan for her.

Thanks to Methos' urging, he had studied the woman before him as deeply as his information would allow. He knew that every step she would take on the road ahead had to be hers alone. If he made even one decision for her, if he rushed her through one blind curve that she wasn't yet ready to face, she would pull back, perhaps even turn and run in panic, and he would have to begin again. Given the limited number of days he had to work with her, that was one mistake he couldn't afford. So he sat with her. He was quiet. He allowed her to dictate what would happen next, and when. He waited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLUE COVE:

"Well. Good afternoon. I was just beginning to wonder where you'd got to." Sydney greeted a very late arriving Broots, adding a bright smile to make sure his friend and assistant knew he was in no trouble.

"I know you won't tell anyone, Sydney. You won't will you?"

"Of course not. Is something wrong at home? If it's anything I can help with..."

"Home? No... No. Not exactly." Broots explained, his voice low as he made his way to Sydney's desk, throwing glances back over his left shoulder every ten seconds all the way there. "It's just that this is the first time all day that either Lyle, Raines or Mister Parker haven't been in front of your door or somewhere within five feet of it. I saw my chance to get this to you, so I took it."

Slipping a small package from his pocket, he slid it to Sydney across the desk. "This was in my mailbox this morning. It's got your name on it. Is it..."

"Oh, yes. I meant to thank you for ordering that for me. I know it's silly to be embarrassed, but it's also silly for a man my age to have become addicted to a child's miniature video game. I'm grateful that you were willing to put it in your name and protect my reputation."

Noting Sydney's surreptitious glances at the corner where the security camera hung, Broots swiftly got the point and played into the fairy-tale his boss was spinning.

"Hey. I said I was sorry. How could I know you'd get hooked on it so fast? This is the one you wanted right? It has all the latest features."

Staring at his watch, Sydney's face brightened.

"I have a marvelous, idea. I was just about to leave all this and go out for an early dinner. Why don't you join me? You can show me all those new features you mentioned." Sydney offered, standing and slipping the package into his pocket.

Growing more and more intrigued by the game Sydney was running on the eyes and ears that tracked their every move, Broots gladly kept it up as they strolled out of the office and towards the elevators.

"Sure. All I'm doing is the same old scut work anyway. It can wait 'till morning. Hey. Did you manage to find the brass key for level twelve yet? You can't complete the level without it and I've looked everywhere."

"Not everywhere, apparently. It was in the treasure chest that's on your left as you finish stage eleven. I'll show you in the car."

"The chest? Man, I swear I checked that. I must have missed it."

"Most people would have, my friend. I do believe most people would have." Sydney replied sagely, smiling a tight, secret smile as the doors clicked shut in front of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not long after passing through the gates of the Centre, the two friends sat in Sydney's car in a rest stop off the highway, Broots wearing an expression of frustrated curiosity.

"Hurry up, would you Sydney? The suspense is driving me nuts."

"If this is from Jarod, it could have any number of traps attached that will destroy the contents if I don't do this correctly, in exactly the manner he expects me to." Sydney responded distractedly. "Give me another minute or two. Whatever it is, I won't hide it from you, I promise. One more piece of tape and I think... Yes. Now let's see what we have here."

Gently prying up the end flap of the small box, Sydney tipped the contents, two tiny disks wrapped in tissue, into his right hand.

"DSA's? I don't understand, Syd. He's always insisted that these things were the key to his past. Why is he giving them up all of a sudden?"

"He did it for a reason. Perhaps these aren't what we think they are." Looking them over carefully, he noticed something missing on the reverse side of one and grinned. "Look at this, Broots. Do you see what I see; there on the back?"

"The code number's missing. It's a copy."

"Precisely, but of what? Would you do me a favor?"

"Sure. Anything you need, just ask."

"There's a leather suitcase in the trunk. If you'd retrieve it for me we can solve this mystery. It's quite heavy, so watch yourself." He advised as he handed his passenger the keys.

A few minutes later, grunting all the way, Broots returned with the case and thumped back into his seat, grateful to let Sydney take the weight from him.

Sliding it gently into his lap, Sydney rapidly dialed in the correct numbers on the lock holding the case closed, unzipped the leather shell and flipped open his personal DSA player, shocking his friend in the process.

"Security checks your trunk every other day! How did you ever keep them from finding this?! The last guy that got caught taking one home overnight..."

"I know. I sewed lead weights into the lining of the outer case. It can't be X-rayed and it's so heavy that security rarely bothers trying to examine it. I always keep it locked, and I change locks periodically. If they decide to be obstinate about it, I simply plead that I brought the wrong set of keys or don't have the time to try and remember the combination." he explained as he picked up the disks again, looking for some sign of which to play first.

"That won't keep them off your back much longer. They're paid to be suspicious."

"I know that too. I'm working on a new strategy as we speak. I just hope I can finish the fine details in time. Can you find anything about these that would indicate whether one should be played before the other?"

"Let's see. Yeah. Here it is. It's really hard to read, but I think it says Disk 1."

"Alright. Disk 1 it is." Sydney replied, slipping the DSA into place.

[ I have to be brief with this little introduction, Sydney. As you're already aware, I'm a little busy at the moment. I found the original of that second disk you're holding in a hidden compartment of my DSA viewer. Sorry. I should have said our viewer, since it was yours before I borrowed it. It really makes me wonder if you knew all along, Sydney, and I don't like wondering about my friends. I need to get going. So much to do. You know how it is. I'd say enjoy the show, but... when you see it, you'll understand. Be careful. I'll call soon. ]

"All along? If I didn't know better, I'd swear Jarod was on the verge of accusing me of something."

His innate curiosity peaking once more, Sydney removed the first disk and inserted the second. It lasted only eleven minutes, but by the time it had finished, Broots was convinced he had spent hours in that tiny space, struggling to breathe air that suddenly seemed toxic and far too heavy to draw into his lungs. Door now wide open, his feet on the asphalt surface of the parking lot, he sat, doubled over, fighting to keep the remains of his day's meals where they belonged.

Deep in his own misery, he only partially registered the pain of the leather case slamming into his low back as Sydney shoved the viewer and its contents away from him and battled his way out the driver's side of the car, half running, half stumbling in a desperate effort to put distance between himself and what he had just experienced.

After a long while, and several hundred deep calming breaths, Sydney forced himself to return to the car to check on Broots who, he feared, would still be nearly incapacitated when he returned. To his great surprise, his friend had not only recovered, but had had the foresight to repack the viewer and the DSA's and replace them in the trunk. As he approached, Broots had just started to walk in a tight circle around the car, in obvious pain, but trying to appear as if everything were normal.

"Broots? What's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You're in pain. Tell me what happened."

"I'll be alright, really. It's not your fault. I probably would have done worse to that thing if I'd been.... Like I said, it's fine."

Going back to the few moments just before he'd rushed out of the car, Sydney recalled violently pushing the case off his legs in the direction of his friend.

"My God. I'm so sorry, Broots. I didn't intend... I was panicked, in a fog. I had no idea..."

"I know. It's okay."

"No it isn't. But it will be, I think. Where did it hit you?"

"Lower back."

"Turn round."

Gently lifting the hem of Broots' shirt, Sydney found a large area already covered by various shades of red and dark brown.

"It's badly bruised, but I think that's the extent of the damage. I'd say you have yourself a few days off."

"Thank God on both counts. After that real life horror movie... I can't go back there today, Syd. All it would take is one look in my eyes and even the gerbils in the labs would know somethin' was up."

"I know. We both need time away. What would you say to a hit and run with minor injuries for you and a bad case of food poisoning for me?" Sydney threw out as he helped his friend back into the car.

"Sounds good to me. I just hope they buy it."

"Oh, I think they will. I can be quite convincing when the need arises." Sydney replied as he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"Don't I know it. That bit about the video game was inspired. Where are we headed now?"

"Do you mind staying on my couch for the night? I can call the Centre from there and treat your back as well."

"I don't mind, you know that, but you don't have to. I should go home."

"Nonsense. Panicked or not, I caused those bruises. It's my responsibility to keep an eye on you tonight and make sure the injury doesn't go deeper than what I can see on the surface. Besides. I... I'd rather not be alone tonight. I don't think the tremors have quite stopped yet."

"Mine either. Yeah. I think company tonight is a great idea. Just one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"When the nightmares hit, I can sleep in the hallway outside your door, right?"

The sudden burst of laughter brought on by Broots' question relieved much of the tension Sydney had been holding onto for the past forty minutes and made him extremely grateful that, after all that had been asked of him and all he had risked, the man sitting beside him was still around and still courageous enough to want to be his friend.

"Never mind the hallway or the couch. I've got an air mattress and a heavy sleeping bag. I'll set them up on the floor of my room."

"I can't let you go to all that trouble. It's too much work...

"It's for my benefit as much as yours, my friend. Something tells me you won't be the only one having nightmares."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Really, Sydney. I don't think I want or need to hear this."

"You do. If something happens in the next day or two, instead of tonight, I might not be there to help. Just listen, alright? These bruises are bound to stiffen up. There will obviously be some pain, but if it becomes so strong that you feel as if you're on the verge of blacking out, or if you see even the faintest sign of blood when you..."

Cringing, Broots held up his hands for emphasis as best he could while lying face down on his friend's couch.

"I get the point, Sydney. I get the point."

"I hope so." the older man chided, refolding the damp cloth in his hands. Finding a cooler surface, he gently reapplied the compress to his friend's lower back. "My guilt over having caused this is deep enough. I can't imagine what I'd do if it turned out...."

"I told you a million times on the ride here, I don't blame you. It just happened. Forget it. Bruises heal, Sydney."

"Yes, well... I think the cold compresses have done all the good they're going to." Sydney replied, dropping the cloth back into the bowl of water on the floor as he stood and stretched tight muscles in his own back. "How would you feel about something to eat?"

"Yeah, that would be great. We never did get to dinner. Man, I didn't think my appetite would find its way back this fast. Not after..."

"Nor mine, but injury and sudden shock have ways of making one ravenous. Can you sit up?"

"I think so. Just let me..."

Broots grunted, reaching for the sofa arm and using it to slowly and cautiously pull himself back to an upright position. "There. Okay. Now, did I hear food mentioned?" he asked, raising his voice a bit as Sydney was already in the kitchen.

"Indeed. How do rare roast beef sandwiches sound?" the older man offered, his voice slightly muffled due to his head being thrust deeply into the refrigerator.

"Like heaven on earth."

"You will want dijon mustard I assume. And German potato salad? I think there's just enough left in here for two servings."

"That sounds perfect, Syd. Let me give you a hand."

Sydney raced back into the living room just in time to prevent Broots from trying to rise from his seat.

"Absolutely not. You're supposed to be resting. You stay where you are. I'll bring trays."

After a brief struggle he knew he wouldn't win, Broots assented to Sydney's wishes. When the aroma of the food reached his nostrils some minutes later, he rapidly forgot to care who had done the work.

"It smells great." he declared as Sydney set the tray in his lap.

"Yes. I make the potato salad myself. I hope you enjoy it."

His mouth already full of the salad, his expression rapturous, Broots could only nod and smile. "I see I don't need to worry about that." Sydney chuckled softly.

Forty minutes later, trays put away, dishes in the sink, Broots sipped his second glass of beer as he worked up the courage to ask the question he'd been avoiding since he and Sydney had arrived.

"Look. I don't wanna ask, but it's been bugging me. The way you reacted back there, I kinda know the answer... but I kinda don't."

Setting his glass on the table beside him, Sydney rose and walked to the window that faced his front yard, staring out at the brown grass and empty flowerbeds, seeing everything as it would be again when spring returned.

"Did I know? Not what was on that DSA, no. My god, if... I knew she had all the earmarks of being the most remarkable natural Pretender we'd ever found. I did the majority of her testing, but they wouldn't let me go any further. They claimed I was too close to her; that I could not possibly maintain my... "objectivity". At the time of Catherine's death, I was still lobbying the Tower to allow me to train Parker. Instead they insisted on handing her over to... him."

"I get sick all over again just thinking of what might have happened to her in Raines' hands."

"As did I. That's why I was fighting so hard to keep her from him."

"But you didn't get her either, right? I mean, if she'd been put in the program, wouldn't she still be there?"

"Just days after her mother's death, she was suddenly declared no longer a fit candidate. Noone ever told me why, and I was never able to learn the answer on my own. She'd always been an observer, even a catalyst in some of Jarod's early training. After her termination from the program, her father wouldn't even let her be that. From that time until Jarod's escape, I saw her rarely, if at all."

A sudden gasp from the couch pulled Sydney's attention in Broots' direction. The paleness of his friend's face brought him running to the rescue.

"What is it? Are you in pain?"

"No, but Daddy Parker sure will be."

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"I just realized why Jarod took her. Oh, my God. I have to get back to the Centre, and right now. We have to find her, Sydney. We can't let him..."

Forgetting, in his agitation, that he had ever had a back injury, Broots jumped from the sofa and headed for the door, but was halted mid-step and mid-sentence by the pain that lanced up his spine and down the back of his legs.

After being helped back to the couch, it was several minutes before he could even speak.

"I have to go..."

"You're not going anywhere just now. You rest. I'll be back in a moment with some ibuprofen."

"It can wait. She's gonna kill him, Syd. She may not mean to, but it'll happen just the same. You have to stop Jarod. You have to."

"Stop him from doing what? I don't understand."

"He thinks he's found a way to cut the Centre's pursuit off at the knees. He's put her back in the program, Sydney. He's training her."

Kicking himself for not understanding earlier, Sydney began to pace the room, finally seeing the pieces fall together and coming to the same conclusion that Broots had.

"My God. That's exactly why he did this. He plans to turn her into an ally instead of an enemy. You have to admit, Broots; it may be doomed to ultimate failure but it is brilliant. He's doing exactly what I always taught him to do; turn obstacles into challenges to be overcome and turn adversity into opportunity. It's nice to know all my lessons didn't go to waste." Sydney chuckled, grinning and becoming more excited with every minute.

"How can you be laughing? This is serious! By now Miss Parker's probably either shot him in the head or beat him half to death and she's on her way back as we speak."

"I seriously doubt either one of those scenarios has come to pass. Jarod said he wasn't working alone and two people are much harder to subdue than one."

"I can't believe this. You know better than almost anyone what she's capable of and you aren't even a little worried?!"

"I was at first, but not now. Don't you see? This could be the best thing that's ever happened to her. She was never meant to grow up the way she did. When she was barred from training, her life took a different course than it should have. She deserves a second chance to see where that other path would have led."

"It wasn't that bad a choice, Sydney. It kept her away from Raines."

"Agreed, but she was left to the less than tender mercies of her father without Catherine's humanity and compassion to balance the scales. Therefore she became our miss Parker instead of the one she could, or should, have become. If anyone can make a success of a mad scheme like this, it's Jarod. I almost hope he does. I just wish I could be there. I'm missing his ultimate pretend."

"Which would be?"

"Me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm not shouting at you and I'm not being disrespectful. I simply want the answers I'm entitled to."

"I didn't think it was necessary. Your plate is full at the moment and I wanted to spare you the extra stress."

"That is straight off the stall floor and you know it. I should have been the first one you notified." Lyle protested, pacing rapidly back and forth before Mister Parker's desk.

"After the Tower, of course." his father reminded him, a half-smoked cigar frozen halfway to his mouth, eyes suddenly harder than they'd been a minute ago as he waited for his son to show that he regretted his slip of the tongue.

Reading the clear reprimand in the face of the older man, Lyle responded immediately, a rare flash of anger momentarily overcoming his usually rock solid self control.

"I am not a three year old. If you question my loyalty, then say so, but leave that "what's the magic word" crap in the compost heap where it came from. I just found out I had a sister. What could possibly make you think that keeping me ignorant of her abduction would be good for me? You had to know I'd find out eventually. I won't lose her, not now and especially not to Jarod. There has to be more you can do than sit there chomping on that absurd cigar and blowing pretty smoke rings for the benefit of the ceiling tiles."

Already fatigued by the demands of his work and the constant calls from his superiors, Mister Parker drew a deep breath, expelled it slowly and depressed the button under his desk that would bring any nearby security immediately to his office. As he had seen to it that, lately, one or more of their number was never out of earshot, he didn't have to wait very long before two guards appeared in his office doorway.

"Gentlemen. Mr. Lyle seems to be lost. Would you be kind enough to show him the way back to his own office?"

"Of course. This way, sir."

For the briefest of moments, Lyle considered shaking off the hands that were persistently turning him away and moving him out into the hallway. The moment passed, however, and he settled for throwing his father a last challenge as he was led away.

"Don't think I'm dropping this. If you won't even try to find your own daughter, I will."

Too tired and frustrated to formulate a suitable reply, Parker merely watched his son as he was guided back toward his own door and given a none too gentle push in that direction. Staring at the pile of papers heaped on his desk, he slowly gathered them up, stacked them neatly and slid them to one side. Rising from his seat, he made his way to the sofa that he had recently bought and tucked into a discreet corner of his office, laid down slowly and threw an arm over his eyes.

A moment later, he stretched out the same hand, grasping the framed photo on the low table in front of the couch, gazing at it quickly, then clutching it to his chest under his folded arms as his eyes slid closed. It was only in moments of severe anxiety, such as the bout he was currently suffering through, that he could admit that he really only kept the picture around for sentimental reasons. He didn't need one to recall her face; he never had.

"Where are you when I really need you, angel? Our little girl's in trouble. Then again, when is she not?" he chuckled softly at the thought, surprising himself, but sobered quickly. "Help her. Keep her safe for me, my love."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER

Nearly half an hour after he had first entered her room and presented his gift to miss Parker, Macleod was still exactly where he had been at the start; seated half on and half off the large table in the middle of the cubicle, patiently waiting for her to make the first move, to take a step, even a small one, that would wedge his foot in the door and provide him a place to begin.

Less than a minute later, when she raised her eyes to his face at last, he cheered her silently, but did not move from his position. He waited until the second hand on his watch had completed two more full circuits before he met her eyes, allowing her the security of her habitual dominant role for a while longer. Still silent, he held his hands up palm out, to show they were empty, then dropped the left back to the table and used the right to slide the basket a little closer to her, encouraging her to investigate its contents.

After a very brief staring contest, which he allowed her to win, she peeled back the tissue paper covering the top, took a fast inventory of what he had brought, then set the basket on the floor beside her chair and resumed staring at him.

Satisfied that she believed herself the victor in the battle of wills, Macleod stood, made a small bow and walked out the door, knowing everything had gone like clockwork and already preparing Miss Parker's next lesson.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How much did you see?"

"Almost all of it. I was only going to watch for a minute or two, but I got so fascinated by what you were doing. That's not like any trust exercise I've ever heard of."

"It's a technique I developed for working with patients with her kind of background. Trust isn't just anathema to her, it's beyond non-existent. I'm not sure she even gets the concept behind the word. She thinks she trusts the people around her every day, but it's not real. Her faith in them is faith out of fear, necessity or pure survival instinct. Once I get her to see that,...."

"Then she'll know true trust.... in you."

"Precisely. From there it's a short hop, hopefully anyway, to the point where she's ready, willing and able to be confronted with the whole truth, including the nausea inducing stuff on that disk."

"Ready for dinner?"

"Oh, yeah. It may have looked like I was doing nothing in there, but keeping my mouth shut that long really takes it out of me."

Laughing companionably, the two men strolled off to the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Having fortified himself with an excellent meal of Jarod's creation, Macleod stood, once again, just outside his "patient's" cubicle, observing her on the monitor. He watched closely as she made several furious circuits of the room, stopping occasionally at the large table to snatch a quick swallow from a bottle of upset stomach remedy; one of many items he had stuffed into the care package delivered during their last session.

When she disappeared from his line of sight, he switched to the feed from a second camera and discovered that she had walked to the edge of the bed and now stood before it, contemplating it as if she'd never seen its like before. Believing he understood what she was mulling over, Macleod took that moment to unlock the door and enter, disrupting a likely plan of tearing the bed apart and using various parts for weapons and escape tools.

Maneuvering the padded desk chair he had brought along into a satisfactory position near the table, he lowered himself into its relative comfort (at least compared to a seat on a table edge) and crossed his knees, prepared to wait her out once again.

Despite her knowledge that she was no longer alone, Parker stared at the bed for a while longer, wanting the small container of neon pink fluid on the table more than ever, but knowing she would have to pass close to him to retrieve it, increasing her nausea and defeating the purpose of the trip. Another moment or two and a particularly violent twitch from her stomach decided her.

Turning slowly to face her tormentor, Parker raised a hand stiffly, pointed in Macleod's direction and then at the other side of the room in general. Confused, but knowing he couldn't afford to antagonize her, Macleod acceded to her silent request, stood and moved several feet in the direction she had indicated, watching her all the while.

When she was satisfied he was far enough away, she strode to the table and retrieved the medicine, vaguely waving him back once she'd reached the bed once again. Dropping to the mattress, Parker lifted the bottle to her lips for a long moment, then capped it tightly and tossed it on the comforter beside her, favoring the man across from her with the darkest look in her repertoire; the one designed to bore holes in cement walls and send anyone who witnessed it into screaming fits as they dived behind the nearest solid object. To her further frustration, it seemed to have no effect whatsoever. His face expressionless, he simply continued to gaze at her calmly and with great interest, as if he had discovered a new species of bacteria and was still caught up in marveling over his find.

As he watched her anger grow with every passing minute, Mac knew their stalemate wouldn't last much longer. Studying her background and personality, and sensing all the rage and sorrow she had repressed and denied, had told him that she was headed for an emotional explosion of nuclear proportions somewhere in the near future, but he knew if he, or Jarod, were to get anywhere with her, it had to happen soon. The pressure cooker atmosphere he and Jarod had designed would force her into confronting her past on their timetable and in a controlled environment, where the coming blast could at least be contained.

Gazing at her, his mind drifted back to Methos' claims that Parker had reacted to him as only another immortal would have; that, somehow, she had known what he was. Mental wheels and gears picking up speed, he began to wonder again why she had ordered him away from the table before she would go and get the bottle she had left there. Deeply curious now, he knew he would have to test the theory forming in his mind or the questions would bother him until he did. Standing, he began to slowly walk toward her, checking every step of the way for even minute changes in her appearance that would indicate his presence was affecting her in some unusual way.

When he was still over four feet away, he noticed signs of an internal struggle begin to show in her eyes. At three feet, she grabbed the medicine and fled to the other side of the room, leaning into a convenient corner and guzzling what little was left in the bottle. After wiping her lips somewhat daintily with an index finger, she spoke the first words either of them had since Macleod had first shown up earlier that day.

"You did that deliberately, you son of a bitch."

Never dropping his eyes from hers, Macleod inclined his head slightly in an admission of guilt.

{There goes your dominant status, lovely.} Mac thought, laughing to himself. {From here on in, we fight as equals; as warriors should. En Garde. The battle starts now.}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLUE COVE

"Pardon me sir, but I only witnessed the accident. I wasn't driving the car. Of course. Apology accepted. We both saw my personal physician. He said hospitalization wasn't necessary. A few days bed rest and we'll be feeling like ourselves again. Yes. I'll pass on the message. Please excuse me. I have another call. I'll be right back to you. Hello."

"Hello to you."

The sound of his former student's voice sent memories and images from the difficult afternoon just past spinning through Sydney's head, stunning him briefly and forcing him to take a deep breath or two before speaking.

"The answer is no, Jarod. Please trust me when I say I had no part in..... in the horrors that disk contains."

"I believe you didn't know Catherine would be killed. That's all I believe. You were practically head of the project, Sydney; second only to Raines. It would have been nearly impossible for you not to know about Miss Parker."

"Of course I was aware..... She was scheduled to be placed with Raines. I couldn't let her be subjected to...I tried, Jarod. God alone knows how hard I tried to get them to allow me to teach her, as I was teaching you. They were having none of it. After Catherine's... after that day, the child's name was struck off the rosters. I don't know why, but I thank God for it every day. It was my job, Jarod. I didn't know the truth then. You must understand."

"I didn't know. I tried. They wouldn't let me. They all sound like excuses, Sydney. Poor excuses for betrayal of a child's trust."

"Jarod...."

"Face it, Sydney. Even if you'd been allowed to train her she would have ended up exactly like I was; a desperately lonely and frightened eight year old child in a thirty year old body, who just wants the games and the sims and the pain to stop."

"Yes, and instead she grew up with a father who had not the first clue how to relate to a little girl except to turn her into the same unfeeling Centre automaton that he had become."

"Pointless arguments, Sydney. I just wanted to let you know I'll be out of contact for a while. Things are getting hectic here and I can't spare the time. When we're finished, maybe...."

"I'll look forward to hearing from you....."

The dial tone in his ear stopped Sydney mid-sentence. Brushing moisture from his cheeks that he hadn't realized was there until just then, he quickly composed himself and returned to his conversation with his employer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER

His dark eyes fused to her lighter ones, Macleod took a half step toward the corner then stopped. Parker, her survival instinct kicking into high gear, felt a rush of adrenaline flood her system as her spine straightened automatically, her hands lifted into defensive positions and her well trained body prepared to defend itself.

"Relax. You have my vow to stay at least ten feet away. Conditionally of course."

"If I wanted to take you apart, ten miles wouldn't be far enough."

"Tell me why I can't get close to you, and I back off. Easy." Macleod offered in a "let's be buddies" tone of voice, while moving another half step closer. "We got along fine at the Centre. I've trained boxers who couldn't handle clinches half as well as you did that afternoon."

"You have two choices. Get out of my face and live or keep coming and I gut you, hang you upside down and turn this place into a slaughterhouse. Up to you."

"Tell me. That's all it will take. One more small step brings me into that four-foot zone. Tell me why I shouldn't take it. Help me understand."

"Hope you keep the name of your chosen funeral parlor in your wallet."

Shaking his head, careful not to let even a trace of his amused fascination show, Mac took another step. As he had theorized, whatever she was feeling kept Parker precisely where she was, unable to move close enough to carry out her threat, though the burning desire to rearrange vital parts of his anatomy still glowed white hot in her eyes. Hoping to stave off a painful confrontation, he asked a question designed to throw her completely off balance and distract her from lethal thoughts. It did its job so well that she had answered him before she could even think about the consequences of opening herself up to the man she had been prepared to murder two minutes before.

"It was like this at the airport, wasn't it?"

"Airport? Hell, no. He was like driving into a cement wall. You just make my hangover worse."

"It isn't the alcohol. At least not completely. Some people react badly to chloroform."

"Chloroform? You chloroformed me?!"

"Not me. I didn't get here 'till after breakfast. You'll have to take that up with my associate."

"God! No wonder I have no memory of how I ended up in this sick little experiment. I assume you're watching, you sadistic.... You can't possibly imagine what I'm going to do to you, Jarod. What is it they say on that game show? Come on down. Well, why don't you? It'll be a challenge for me to see if I can finally kill someone without the usual messy cleanup."

"He will. It isn't time yet. You and I still have work to do. You'll probably see him in a few days, if you're a good girl and cooperate with teacher. Describe the feeling to me. Tell me exactly what happens when I get too close to you."

"Give me a reason."

"I'm curious. Is that good enough?"

A sneer and a decidedly unfriendly show of teeth were all the response Mac received. He debated pushing her further, but only for a split second.

"It's true. I don't understand your reaction. It makes me curious." he rationalized for her benefit as he took another step forward, watching her like a hawk every second. "You don't have to keep suffering. Just talk to me."

Her eyes mere slits now, Parker grimaced and shot her answer through tightly clenched teeth and between short, labored breaths.

"Damn you. I could.... rip your lungs out.... through your navel with one hand."

"Probably, but that has nothing to do with what I asked you."

"I... already explained. If you.... weren't paying attention.... you deal with it. Not my problem."

"You said I make your hangover worse. You didn't explain how."

"You back off."

"I said I would. I keep my promises."

"No. You first. Then I talk."

For several seconds, Mac hesitated to do as she was asking, but conceded in the end. Several minutes later, after drawing enough deep, strong breaths to clear her head and allow her to straighten previously unstable legs, she pleased him no end by keeping her part of the bargain.

"The headache and the nausea..... somehow, being close to you intensifies them. Happy?"

"It'll do."

"To hell with you. I gave you what you wanted. You could have the decency to at least look smug instead of distracted."

"Sorry. I was thinking about a logic problem. Nothing to do with the real reason we're here."

"Which I trust you'll now tell me?"

"Soon. When our work is done. You can have a seat on the bed if you'd like. You've been standing long enough."

"Aren't we suddenly Mr. Warmth and Charm." Parker responded caustically, never taking her eyes off him as she made her way to the cot.

"We do try." Macleod returned with a small grin, searching at the same time for the spot where she had stored the basket he'd delivered earlier. When he found it, he rooted in it for a few seconds, extracted a small vial from beneath the other items, placed it on the floor some distance from the bed and strolled back to his seat.

Still wary, Parker retrieved the tiny bottle and withdrew quickly back into her comfort zone.

"The top twists off. Take a couple deep breaths of that and then we'll get back to work."

"How much of an imbecile do you think I am?"

"No more of one than you must consider me. If I wanted to make you sick, I'd give you a hug. That vial is nothing but a mixture of plant extracts; green apple, jasmine and rosehips to be precise."

"Aromatherapy? After what you did to me last night, you expect me to believe this is aromatherapy. I've used every scent blend there is. What you described doesn't exist."

"If it were a commercial product, I'd agree. It isn't. I made it for you. Green apple for the headache, jasmine for anxiety and rosehips for the nausea."

"It just gets better and better. Good looking, charming and a master herbalist. What a guy."

"Just open the bottle. We have work to do, and I need you concentrating on me, not whether or not you're about to toss your cookies."

"What a great bumper sticker writer you'd make. 'Your bun's in my oven and I'm tossing my cookies over you.' "

Getting frustrated with her stalling tactics, Macleod decided using shock and indignation might get her back on track.

"Did you ever consider that? As a reason for the nausea I mean. It's quite possible it wasn't a bad reaction after all. The way Jarod described your personality, I just assumed you hadn't played.... bounce the box spring, shall we say, in months. Maybe even years. Assumptions are often wrong of course...."

When he turned to gauge her reaction, he found she had removed her shoes and placed both feet flat on the floor. Both hands were wrapped around the edge of the bed frame, and he could almost see the tension flowing in waves from her ramrod-straight back. Glancing at her face, Macleod suddenly felt a strong urge to run for the nearest exit well up in his throat. Shoving the doubt away from him, he mentally reset his cool, calm facade and continued.

"Good. Now that you're taking things a bit more seriously, we can move on. Open the bottle."

Following his every move with her eyes, Parker did as she had been asked. The moment the vial was opened she immediately knew Macleod had told the truth about its contents. Bringing the small glass container close to her face, she drew four deep, slow breaths, resealed the tube, slid it into a pocket of her slacks and relaxed against the wall.

"Better?" Macleod asked, fighting to keep a smile from his lips. At a small nod from his subject, he continued. "Good. I have an offer for you. Whether you accept is up to you, of course, but I hope you see the benefits to agreeing. The deal is that I tell you only the God's honest truth, and I expect the same from you."

"Impossible. Men are born knowing how to lie and they'd lie to the priest on their death-bed if they thought they could get away with it."

"All men?"

"All... of them."

"There isn't one man you can name who you believe would always tell you the truth if he knew it meant everything to you?"

Gazing intently into the solemn, azure eyes of the woman seated across from him, Mac realized she had an answer, but wouldn't surrender her choice easily. He sat silent, waiting for her to make the next move, knowing he couldn't let control of the moment pass out of his hands, but still uncertain how far he could push her before she would retreat to a place where he couldn't reach her. When he spoke again, he deliberately softened his tone and, for the first time that day, allowed a tiny amount of the genuine concern he felt for her seep into his words and his expression.

"There is one, isn't there? I can see it. You want to tell me but you're terrified of betraying his trust. You think he'd turn his back on you. He won't."

"Where do you get off.... you don't know a damn thing about me. If there was a man like that in my life, what the hell makes you think he wouldn't head for the hills if I said word one about him to you?"

"I wouldn't. Besides. Any man strong enough to care for you would never give up that easily."

"Jarod must have warned you. I take care of myself."

"Of course you do. You're a competent, secure, fully grown woman." Mac agreed, standing now and pacing away from the bed. "Only children need their every scrape and knock tended to, physical or otherwise. You and I... we tend to our own bruises don't we?"

"And I'm damn good at it."

"Self-reliance is a marvelous gift."

"Greatest one my father ever gave me. As long as I'm not counting on someone else to cover my ass, it won't get blown off."

"It isn't him, though. It's not his identity you're protecting. Everyone in your world knows how it is between you two. No need to safeguard a relationship that's on public display. Well; that's one down. I will figure this out, you know."

"I told you, there's....."

"I know what you said. Even if there was a man...." The answer suddenly popping into his head, Macleod hid his small triumphant smile by turning away from his subject until he was able to restore his former casually interested expression. "So. Do you accept the agreement or not? Complete honesty for complete honesty."

"Drop this line of questioning..... and the answer's yes."

"Agreed. Tell me about your father." Macleod suggested gently as he returned to his chair.

"Specify."

"Anything will do. Whatever you feel like bringing up. How about your first memory of him? Or any early memories for that matter."

After a long pause, her expression altering only slightly in response to the emotions the question engendered in her, Parker finally answered.

"Sorry, handsome. Out of luck on that one. Never had 'em, never will. So much for psychoanalysis."

"Yes, you do. You just haven't looked in the most obvious place. You aren't sure what you'll find, and that frightens you."

"I fear nothing. Another one of Daddy's valuable lessons."

"You fear everything. You've become a raging, passionate workaholic because you know fear is the worst enemy you'll ever face, and the only one you can't crush under your three inch stiletto heels, so you think you can intimidate it into submission."

Her gaze locked rigidly with his, Parker repeated her previous statement, separating the words as if she were instructing a mentally disabled child.

"I. Fear. Nothing."

"You fear me. You're terrified someone will learn all your secrets before you do. You're terrified that Jarod already has."

"Keep pushing. Even if I puke all over you doing it, I will rip your heart from your body with my teeth and make you swallow every last bite."

Laughing quietly to himself, Macleod swiveled away from the table and pushed off, sending the chair drifting slowly backwards.

"Good Lord, you have an active imagination. The fact that it's mired thigh deep in gore isn't exactly endearing, but...."

"You don't really want to know what I'm imagining right now."

"Later pretty, later. We were discussing early memories I think."

"Why don't we discuss your hearing problem, Beethoven? I told you...."

"You do have them. I can prove it."

"You couldn't prove piss is warm if you had transparencies and an overhead projector."

"As terrified as you are of me, I'm sure you'll do that for yourself any minute now."

Eyes widening, Parker started off the bed, intent on ripping apart her tormentor, but was slammed back by the wall between them. She was left curled in a near fetal position on the floor, cursing her luck and her traitorous body and spitting venom in Macleod's direction.

"What have you two done? What the hell is happening to me?"

"Hang in there. Once the alcohol and the sedative quit complicating things, it won't be so hard on you. You'll get used to it, I promise."

Mac waited for Parker to pull her self together and find her way back to the bed before renewing his verbal assault. "So. Do I get to prove I'm telling the truth, or not? I'd hate to be accused of breaking our agreement."

As he watched Parker recover her composure, Macleod sensed her back-pedaling. She had refused to respond, choosing instead to sit completely still and not look at him at all.

Concerned about losing her completely, he immediately took a different tack; one designed to re-engage her, prevent further retreat and begin honing her innate, but still raw, skills as a Pretender, without her knowing what was happening.

"Okay. New subject. Game time. Pick a room, any room you know really well. You get thirty seconds to study it in your head, then you have to describe it."

"I detest games. Go play in a toxic waste dump for all I care." Parker snarled, still staring at the quilt.

"Oh. So you don't give a damn what the real challenge is."

Moments later, when her eyes lifted to meet his, Mac breathed a mental sigh of relief, knowing he had her back, even if only temporarily. "The hard part is, you have to picture the room the way it was five years back. The second round is a different room and ten years, and so on. You get the point. I'll go first."

Closing his eyes, Mac pictured himself and Tessa still on the barge. When his past threatened to derail his present, he pulled his inner sight away from his image of her and refocused on the room, examining every object quickly but thoroughly and then describing them to Parker in minute detail.

In response to his questioning eyebrows, she merely nodded yes, that she believed him and kept silent.

"Your turn."

Straightening, her eyes hard and calculating, Parker envisioned her office as it had appeared before Jarod's escape had tripled her daily stress load, before she'd had to deal with her brother, Raines and the Triumvirate on an almost daily basis.

"My office. The desk was on the west wall, facing away from the door. The computer center was on the north wall, facing the window with the ocean view. There was a couch on the east side and two chairs opposite it, but I have no clue anymore what color they were."

"You're there, remember? Just turn and look and tell me the color."

After another moment or two of contemplation, eyes turned away, Parker spoke again.

"Wine. I should have known. I always.... A mahogany coffee table in front of the couch and an end table by each chair, both with Lalique lamps. There was a piece or two of abstract hanging on the walls. That's all I remember."

"Who were the paintings by?"

"I should know? Who am I, the New York Times art critic?"

"You don't know what artists you chose for your own office."

"I didn't."

"Didn't know or didn't choose?"

Shooting him her "melt steel doors" glare, Parker refused to answer. Macleod responded without looking at her even once, focusing variously on his fingernails, the door, the floor and the wall just above and behind Parker's head.

"Oh. I should have guessed. Daddy made most of the decorating decisions, didn't he? You probably hate abstract art. You're a logical, analytical, closet romantic. I'd say the impressionists are far more your speed. Maybe even Serrat. Yeah. You probably get really into big doses of linear. Abstract is for people who don't have a real strong idea of who they are. They need to see the world as being just as off-kilter and out of whack as they feel. Straightens things out for some; confirms their worldview. That's not you. You're far too blunt and honest for abstract art."

When he finally went eye to eye with his subject again, Mac was momentarily thrown off his stride by the look on her face. Instead of the ice-queen glare he'd been expecting, he found an intensely interested expression in control of her features, at least for the moment. He sensed she was waiting for him to continue, and if what she heard next displeased or disappointed her, he would lose more than one level of whatever progress he had made so far.

"Go on."

"Shall I? How about photo-realism? That seems to appeal to the depressives, those prone to it anyway. It disturbs them to consider there being anymore light or color in the world than they themselves perceive, which isn't much. They lean toward black and white when they paint. Sometimes a little crimson or midnight blue sneaks in there, but neutral shades represent more of their idea of how things should work. Everything either is or isn't."

"Is or isn't what?"

"Whatever concerns them at the moment. Right or wrong, stupid decision or smart, the easy path or difficult. It's my turn isn't it? Ten years ago. God, I still had the gallery then...."

Over the next fifty minutes, Macleod led an increasingly less recalcitrant Parker back through college memories and teenage angst, deftly and convincingly creating a modern past for himself when the truth became unfeasible. When he knew they were approaching the critical time period, he began to lessen the detail in his false recollections, claiming age and failing memory, until most of the burden of the game was on Parker's shoulders.

"Well. Looks like the game is called on account of memory loss on both sides."

"Not necessarily. I told you I could show you where to find yours. Up for it?"

"Absolutely. I can't wait to see you produce something I know damn well doesn't exist."

"Good. Step one is to close your eyes. Step two; visualize yourself looking in a full-length mirror. Instead of the adult you see every day, the reflected image is of a young girl, maybe seven or eight years old. Got it?"

When Parker nodded, Mac continued. "Alright. Now eliminate the mirror, but hold tight to that image. Don't try to see her as being anywhere yet. It's just you and her in a dark empty space. All you can see now is her face. Just her face. There's nothing else. Give me the first word you connect with that face. Don't think, don't analyze, just say it."

"Tears."

"Whose?"

"Hers. She's sobbing, wailing."

"Why?"

"She's terrified. Someone she tru.... she's trapped, locked in. Her heart is racing and breaking at the same time and she's afraid it will drive her insane."

"Why?"

"She saw something, something.... horrific. Now she can't get out and she can't stop seeing it. She's so afraid of this place, but she scares herself more. The person who.... they make her feel...."

"What?"

"Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. She can't reconcile hating someone she loved and trusted so completely. She wants more than out. She wants to ask them why."

"Out?"

"Out of that tiny room, out of the dark, out of the way she's feeling. Out of the nightmare.... someone dumped her in."

"How?"

"She's finally realized that screaming and crying aren't getting her anywhere. She's sitting on the floor. Too quiet, too pale. She still believes that someone will be back for her."

"And?"

"Noone has. It's been three days. She's had no food, no water except what she was able to scrounge. She doesn't really know what's going on anymore. She's losing touch with reality. The door opens. It scares her so much she crab-crawls into a corner to hide. She's...."

"What?"

"She gave up hope of ever seeing anyone. She's petrified of.... whoever has come to rescue her."

"Who?"

"It's too bright, Her eyes can't adjust fast enough...."

"Who?"

"I told you, she doesn't know. She's being held.... too tightly. She fights like a demon."

"Who?"

"I said...."

"Who?"

"She can't see...."

"Who?"

"I couldn't see, damn you! How was I supposed to know if I couldn't see!?"

For the briefest moment, Macleod remained perfectly still, allowing the change of pronoun to impact her conscious mind, then stood and moved for the door, leaving her a final thought as he exited.

"If I were you, love, I'd take a closer look at your "convenient" lack of early memories.... and who it's most convenient for."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It has to be done, Jarod. We can't just ignore this opening when she dropped it right in our laps. Now that this has come to light, it changes the finale totally. We have the foothold most likely to break her down and bring back her full memory. We've come too far to walk away now."

"I don't agree. It's too severe. It'll push her so far down she won't have a way back. She'll end up suffering a psychotic break or maybe even slip into MPD. It's happened before."

"I know it has. I've seen it. I even caused it once or twice when I was naive and had no idea what messing with the human mind could do. I'm not that young anymore, Jarod. Trust me. Please trust me a little longer."

"This crosses the line. I won't allow her to be hurt."

"I would never hurt her. The idea is to help her become what she was meant to be and get the hunters off your trail, at least for a while. Let me do what I think is necessary, the way I feel I have to do it."

"Necessity and cruelty aren't that far apart...."

"Listen to him, son. He's usually right."

Spinning at the sound of an unexpected voice, Jarod tensed, his eyes narrowing and darkening, his body poised for flight or counterattack whichever might become necessary. Seeing Methos, he instantly relaxed, striding to greet and embrace the friend he hadn't seen in weeks. Macleod, however, wasn't nearly as enthused.

"What are you doing here?"

"Good to see you too, Mac. Hi, Jarod."

"I'm so glad you decided to come. I've missed our talks."

"Me too. Let me settle in and maybe...."

"You haven't answered the question." Macleod reminded his friend.

"Vegas was thoroughly disappointing. Too many doves and not enough birds. Magicians everywhere. Town has turned into a damn theme park."

Confused by Methos' words, Jarod turned and looked at Macleod.

"Bird is British slang for a woman."

"Ohhh."

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with this. For the third time; why are you here?"

"You know why."

His expression darkening further, Mac broke in before the other man could continue.

"I thought so. Out. You and your luggage, get out. I'm doing fine on my own and the last thing I need is you sticking your well preserved nose in."

"Just the type of comment I'd expect from an infant." Methos retorted as he dropped his bags by the kitchen door and vanished in search of a beer.

"I did not just hear you say that. You know so much better than to go there...."

Intent on loosening a few ancient teeth, Macleod started for the spot where Methos had disappeared, but was halted by the solid grip of Jarod's hand on his forearm.

"We don't have time for this. Butting heads with each other will just get us migraines. Let him have his jet-lag tantrum. We do need him. He's probably forgotten more about the human mind than you or I ever knew. He can help."

Slowly, Mac released a deep breath, and with it, his brief flare of irritation. Glancing quickly at the monitor, he began to realize how much more comfortable he'd be executing the final act of their script with Methos around to back him up in case of emergency or monumental screw up on his part.

Grimacing, Methos re-entered the living room, gingerly carrying a beer bottle with the fingertips of his left hand and massaging his right temple with the other.

"God. Never again. Commercial airlines treat you like dustbin rejects. Next time I charter and fly it myself."

"Trash dumpster." Macleod explained, before Jarod could ask.

Dropping into a recliner, Methos looked from one to the other then grinned.

"I really hope this innocence and trust disease he has isn't contagious. I catch it and a forty year old chihuahua with arthritis could take my head."

"Don't knock it until you've come down with it." Macleod advised. "I happen to like how it feels. Jarod and I have even discussed me taking a few of my established identities and joining him on the road for a few months. It's past time I took a break from the game and did some real good again."

"You can't be serious."

"Wait and see. So. Will you stay?"

For several moments, Methos sat quietly sipping his beer and considering Macleod's request.

"I could get her over the really rough bits."

"You could, but the way she reacts to us, we'd be better off saving you for the finale."

"Are you talking about what was going on in your session with her today?" Jarod interjected, his expression open and intensely curious as it always was when he anticipated learning some new fact about Immortal life.

"Right. You remember I explained how Immortals know when another of us is around?"

"Of course. Wait. You can't be saying...."

"No. I'm certain she's not even a potential Immortal. What she is, is sensitive to the difference between us and the rest of the world, and far more aware of Methos than me, from how he tells it. She already has a mild hangover thanks to the chloroform and nine-tenths of a bottle of wine. Every time I get too close, the awareness signal kicks in and pushes her headache and nausea into the red zone."

"It only stands to reason. He's been alive so much longer that his signal would be amplified and bass boosted compared to yours."

"Hey." Methos interrupted, "I don't care if you talk as if I'm not sitting right here, but can't you do it without bringing up my age?"

"I can't believe you're still hung up on that. You're Immortal for God's sake. What does age have to do with anything?"

"I feel it here." the other man replied irritably, placing a finger on his forehead. "I've seen too damn much. The years weigh more with every one I see go out. I'm tired."

"God! Go to bed and take your black hole mood with you. You've got me ready to put a gun to my head."

"Not until I get something in my stomach."

Grinning, Mac couldn't pass up an opportunity to needle his old friend and give himself a laugh as well.

"Still can't hack airline food, old man?"

"I refuse to consume anything that looks like it got caught in the engines on a previous flight. And I said watch the "old man" cracks. Have you two decided how this thing is going to end, by the way?"

"Not really. I discovered something earlier today that could be the key to unlocking her, but Jarod thinks using it would be going too far."

Turning to Jarod, who had perched on the edge of the sofa not far from Macleod, Methos merely raised his eyebrows, waiting for the younger man to explain. Jarod's only response was to rise, walk into the kitchen and proceed to bash the cooking pots and pans around as he began to make a late supper for the four of them.

"Oops. Not going to get it from him am I? You talk."

"According to what she gave up today, they.... he threw her in one of the Pretender cells at some point just after her mother was killed and left her in there for over seventy-two hours with no food and only a little water."

"Three days?! Lord! she was only, what.... seven?"

"Eight, I think. Jarod was younger. The more I understand about what mortals are capable of doing to their own children, the less I understand why you and I.... how the hell could he do it?"

"Are we thinking about the same he?"

"She wouldn't say it out loud, but it had to be Daddy Dearest. He must have given in to the bastards and handed his own child over...."

"He would have had no choice, Mac. They'd already terminated his wife, and with extreme prejudice yet. He would have been no harder to sacrifice."

"What baffles me is, I think he was the one that came and got her out. He puts her in there and then pulls her away again? I don't get it."

"He's the only one who could answer that. So what does all this have to do with the end of this elaborate little production?"

"I want to put her through it all again; the darkness, the hunger and thirst, the panic. I'm hoping it will open the floodgates and she'll remember everything they took from her."

"Good God, Mac. Let's be brutal why don't we?"

"Brutal it might be, but I'm convinced it will work."

"Yeah. Done right and really, really, carefully. Done wrong it could leave her with a permanently fogged windshield."

"I won't let that happen."

"You don't want it to happen. There's a world of difference there." Methos reminded his friend, wincing as a pot crashed particularly loudly in the kitchen. "Well. I think I upset him. Better go make it up or get rat poison in my stroganoff."

"Good thinking. Methos."

"Yeah."

"What do we do for her when she does remember?"

"Nothing *to* do. She'll handle it, and God help the Centre when she decides how."

"Not likely He'll bother."

"Agreed." Methos said, smiling lightly as he walked off. Entering the kitchen, he moved cautiously, eyes open for flying steak knives and dishes.

"Jarod?"

"You don't need to apologize. It's me. I wasn't allowed genuine emotions for a very long time. Now that I'm able to explore them, the negative ones sneak up on me sometimes. I'm sorry."

"Me too. Mac explained why it's a touchy subject."

"I care about what happens to her. The purpose of all this is to help her. How can torture possibly fulfill that purpose? How can I justify it?"

"How could her father allow it in the first place? At least we're trying to undo some of the damage that.... toxic, abhorrent mental illness factory has done to her. Sometimes pain and suffering, in the name of a right cause, are acceptable, Jarod. They stole her childhood and her soul just as much as they did yours. We have a moral duty to try to help her find them again."

"But I haven't even got all the pieces of myself back yet. It's like they're.... hostages in this pitch black place that I can't get to. I keep hoping I'll feel a little more whole with every person I help, every person I keep from the darkness. Instead, I feel like I'm losing myself to it, and I'm not strong enough to fight back. Who saves the savior, Methos?"

"An age old question, my friend."

"And the answer?"

"No clue. Haven't given it enough thought. Never saw myself as a particularly heroic person, I suppose."

"Just doing what you and Macleod did at the Centre was more heroics than most people will see in a lifetime."

"That was nothing like bravery. It's not all that brave to risk getting a bullet in the back when you know you'll be getting up in ten minutes."

"I meant risking the scientists finding out what you are. You went there knowing that if they discovered...."

"Oh. That."

"Sorry. Votre (your)touchy subject. Oui?"

"Oui. Votre pardon."

"Mais, non. Nous tout a un cent d'eux. (No. we all have a hundred of them.) At least I do, but then, considering...."

Laughing gently at the sudden change of language and the ease with which Jarod switched from one to the other, Methos reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair away from the other man's forehead.

"You never cease to amaze me, son. We can't do this without you. You know that. Mac's scheme may be tough on her, but it will work. If we plan it to the last detail and then some, it will do exactly what he says it will."

"It could also...."

"I know all that too. In the name of a right cause, remember?"

"I understand the logic of going ahead with this. She and I were so close as children.... as much as I hate what she's done to me in the past year or two, I don't hate her. I never could stand to see her in pain."

"She's in pain right now. She just doesn't know it. We can heal that."

His brow furrowed, eyes closed, Jarod held very still and poured all of himself into the decision, incorporating all the strong, honorable, moral essentials Sydney had tried to instill in him, despite the Centre's influence. When he lifted his head, Methos could instantly see that the younger man had made a hard choice. He began to hope he knew which side of the barbed wire Jarod had landed on.

"There are things we can't do for her; things she'll have to heal for herself."

"I know. Trust, hope, unconditional love. Once those are stolen it's a hell of a fight to get them back, but I think you'll both do it eventually. You're certainly strong enough."

"Both of us? I don't have any illusions about how far I still have to go, but I've done some serious healing since...."

"We'll discuss that later, when she can participate. Are you in or out?"

After another long silence, during which Methos' hope began to fade, Jarod agreed. "Thank you. It's the right choice."

"I hope so. Now out of my kitchen. Masters create in solitude."

"Masters? Knowing what I do about you, I can't wait to taste this meal."

Suddenly, Macleod burst into the kitchen, his face a mass of fluctuating emotions.

"The monitor.... you two have got to come. You won't believe this!"

Methos didn't hesitate, never having witnessed such an expression on the Scot's face before. Dropping the utensils he held, Jarod was off nearly as fast. When they reached the monitor, Methos and Jarod stared at it, and then each other, and both silently proclaimed Macleod the Eternal Emperor of understatement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Usual stuff... characters, except for Abbot Michael, Major Hilliard, and Terri Simonson, don't belong to me, not making money, will return them to their owners in the condition I found them. Well... you'll see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright. The truth this time. What did you really do to her?"

"Cut the comedy, Methos. If this is making us nervous... Hey, Jarod. Don't. I know what you're thinking and it isn't time yet. Give her space to work through this on her own terms."

Jarod, just a step or two from the hallway that led to the cell, halted, hesitated, then turned and walked back into the kitchen, refusing to look at the monitor again.

Fascinated, and more than a little concerned, the other two watched for a few more minutes as Parker moved slowly around the cell, dragging the quilt from the bed behind her, her free hand, the thumb extended, occasionally straying toward her mouth or running through her hair.

"I need an answer, Mac. What did you do?"

"I didn't cause this!"

"She's done a twenty-six year age regression, man! You're the one who's been working with her. What did you do?"

"I... Damn. It must have..."

"Mac..."

"I took her through a series of regressions. You know the type of thing; focus on the inner child, answer questions about the image. I was using the monosyllable technique."

"And?"

"She actually had a breakthrough, of sorts. At first she took the observer perspective, but... I pushed. She slipped into first person at the end. I... I swear... I don't know...."

"Wait. Look."

To his great relief, Macleod watched Parker shake her head several times, gaze at the quilt and throw it back onto the bed. Looking at Methos, he found the same emotion reflected back at him.

"Transitory episode. Thank God."

"Oh, I will. For the rest of my life. Gladly, loud and often." Macleod responded, sounding as if he sincerely meant it.

"She probably doesn't even know anything changed. Go see if the food is ready, will you?"

"While you're..."

"Go. I'll take over here."

"Wait a minute..."

Methos whirled from the monitor to face his friend, his expression irate, leaning towards truly furious.

"You knew she was fragile, Mac. You were fully aware that she was a handle with extreme care. You pushed her anyway. Go check on dinner."

"She was ready."

"Did that little performance say *ready* to you?" Methos growled back. "Don't push your luck any further, highlander. Get... into... the kitchen."

"We're short on time. I did what had to be done."

"And your rush to judgment could have left her with a four year old's psyche in an adult's body for the rest of her life! Get out of my sight!"

Jarod's voice behind them swung both men to face the kitchen door.

"Lunch is ready."

"I'll go fix a tray." Macleod offered, vanishing into the kitchen as Jarod approached the monitor. Methos stole a quick glance at him, noting that the stone-face mask behind which the younger man still hid a great deal of his fear and anger had, once again, dropped into place.

"Is she alright?"

"Yeah. Fine. She shook it off fairly quickly. That's a real good sign."

"I told you she's strong. It isn't his fault, you know. I keep telling him stories about how easily the Centre has found me in the past. I think it's made him too conscious of how little time we have to execute this... rescue mission."

"Mission improbable is more like it. I'm beginning to wonder if you weren't right before. Even the best surgeon can't sew up a wound if the tissue is too delicate to hold stitches. What happened tonight says she isn't as strong as you might like to believe."

"There are very few things I delude myself about anymore, Methos."

"I didn't mean that and you know it. As hard as she sells that "heart of steel and cement" act, anyone would buy it. It isn't the reality. She was betrayed as deeply as a child can be; just like you were. You play happy-go-lucky and super-vigilante, she plays Sherman tank. It's the same act, and it won't work for either of you much longer. You both need all your memories to be whole."

"Both of us. You said that before, and you still haven't explained it."

"I'm not sure how to. Helping you will be a world and a half away from helping her. What you went through is so different. I haven't got it all worked out yet. Trust me, though; I will. I can give you back what you've lost if you give me a chance."

Jarod didn't answer. He stared into the space above the monitor,
his camouflage expression showing no sign of slipping. "Can I ask you a totally unrelated question?"

"Go ahead."

"How do you see your role in all this?"

"Planner, I suppose. The one to welcome her home; give her comfort and a safe place until she feels like going back to her life."

"But her life is capturing you."

"I know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hello again."

When Parker flinched and practically ran to the other side of the room, Methos merely grinned and held his ground and the tray until she decided to speak to him.

"Put it down and get out."

"I'd prefer to stay if you don't mind. I promise to respect your comfort zone."

"There is none with you."

"At the airport it seemed to be about five feet. The far side of the table should do." he speculated, placing the tray on the bed and moving away. "Go ahead. You have to eat." he encouraged, shoving the rolling chair toward the bed before taking his chosen seat. Enticed by the aroma of the food, but aware that if he affected her as the other had she would want nothing to do with it, Parker moved slowly to the bed, conscious of her body's reactions all the way. When the status quo remained that way, she placed the tray on the chair, dropped to the bed and cut and sampled a bite of the salmon on the plate.

"Not disgusting. Let me guess. Major brains-coming-out-his-butt made it."

"Yes. Jarod did cook it. You don't hate him. I'd wager the world on that. You don't seem to like him much, though. Funny, that. He said you two were great friends as kids."

"He wasn't a fugitive from his job, it wasn't my job to get him back. He refuses to accept his commitments and it's made my life a living nightmare. I should admire him for it?"

"His job. His commitments. I thought you knew the real story of how he ended up in the Centre."

"When it's my ass on the line, I can't afford to know anything except what I'm supposed to know. Lately, my ass has been very much on the line."

"You and Jarod were close once, though."

Gazing up from her meal only briefly, Parker considered then responded.

"Once."

"Spend a lot of time at the Centre as a girl did you?"

"My father was very important to me. So was what he did for a living. I wanted to be with him. I was there three, maybe four afternoons a week. After my mother... after she passed away, I suppose I got too busy with school, friends, sports..."

"I see. Field hockey?" Methos asked, chuckling.

"Good guess."

"Not really. You and the game share the same personality trait."

"Which would be?"

"The always pleasant "high energy, hair-trigger pistol, kill 'em all and sort 'em out later, piss me off and everybody bleeds" trait. Also, I couldn't quite see you as a cheerleader."

Parker gave a low, dark snicker.

"If it hadn't been a felony..."

"You would have torn the skinny, perky little freaks of nature limb from limb? I felt the same way. Not about cheerleaders, mind. In certain ways I was all for them. The rugby team, now. They were a different story. Smug, ego-driven, testosterone-addicted Neanderthals with one working brain cell, and that on the verge of collapse. I could have quite happily wrapped them all in petrol-bombs, lit the fuse and watched them blow sky-high."

Setting aside the plate and tray, Parker laid the sole of her shoe against the edge of the chair seat and sent it gliding back toward the table.

"Reminds me of your predecessor. Tall, dark and unbearably arrogant."

"My apologies. He was trying to help." Methos explained, standing. "That's what this is for, you know. Helping you, showing you options. Road not taken and all that."

"Why?" Parker asked, moving away as Methos came around the table to collect the tray.

"You've been on one path all your life, love; the one you were placed on. You never got to choose. You got blinders while the rest of us got hang-gliders. Think on Robert Frost before you hit the pillow tonight: 'I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I-..."

"I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.'"

"Good. Very nice recitation skills. Try that voice a little more often. I guarantee you more cooperation and a lot more smiles."

Pulling a small package from his pocket, Methos tossed it on the bed. "Dessert. I can't get Jarod or my "predecessor" to give them up. See you tomorrow. Sleep well."

"Wait. Adam, isn't it?"

"Right."

"Mind if I use it?"

"Go ahead. Just remember that names have great power. Some cultures believe that just speaking a person's name gives control over the owner to the listener. Who knows your name for instance? Just something else to think about. Bye. Dinner at six sharp."

Once he'd gone, Parker walked to the bed, picked up the small plastic package of red licorice and, to her great surprise, fell sideways onto the thin mattress, laughing until the tears dripped off her jaw and soaked the crumpled quilt beneath her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"She seems to be alright now."

"Better."

"She likes the candy. She's laughing."

"Look again."

"What?"

"It's been, what... six, seven minutes now? She hasn't stopped yet. She can't. You wait. This will turn into a crying jag, but not until she's almost exhausted herself. Twisted, corrupted emotions never straighten themselves out easily. The process hurts like hell. Not everyone who tries it makes it to the other side."

Glancing at Methos, Jarod threw him a thoroughly disappointed look.

"I don't work or live well with a lot of negativity."

"How about truth? I'm being realistic, son. You and Mac didn't think of everything. Speaking of Mac, I'd better go find him."

Before he found the strength to overrule his pride, Jarod allowed his friend to get almost to the stairs to the upper level, the honesty of what Methos was trying to get through to him still warring with the peace and harmony he wanted to be able to give Parker without her having to walk through her own personal hell for it.

"I'm... I understand what you said. Look. Don't let his mistake destroy what you and Macleod have... your friendship. He did his best. He helped her, even if it doesn't look like it at the moment."

"I know."

"We can't fail."

"Then let's start planning. Give me a few private moments with Mac then meet us in the kitchen. We'll talk while we eat."

"Alright. Twenty minutes?"

"Perfect."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Long after dinner that evening, Methos and Macleod remained at the table, plates pushed aside as they discussed their differences relating to the last few days of the plan, their conversation carefully attended by Jarod.

"You act like I don't know the time-table here, Mac. I'm as aware of it as you are. This schedule will work and it will only take me two more days, plus one for the final immersion treatment."

"It could take longer. Thanks to me she's gun-shy and closer to her breaking point than she should be."

"No way. Jarod was right. It wasn't anything you did. She did have a minor breakthrough. She just broke through going in the wrong direction. She'll be alright. We have to be really careful."

"I want back in on the sessions."

"Evening one tomorrow. No sooner. I have to sneak you back into her good graces first."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that hopefully she'll have stopped calling you tall, dark and unbearably arrogant by then."

The description caused Jarod, on his third serving of Boston Cream Pie, to burst out laughing, providently covering his mouth with his fork-free hand in time to prevent pie fragments from decorating his companions and half the length of the table.

"Good catch." Methos chuckled. "Three pieces is enough, by the way. You'll be bouncing off the walls and you sleep little enough as it is."

"I'll be fine. I metabolize sugar faster than other people."

"Yeah?" Macleod mused, "Must have something to do with increased brain activity."

"I think so. I'm pretty physically active, too, so that helps."

"Look." Methos interjected, sliding Jarod's plate towards himself, "Quit helping him rationalize, would you? His metabolism has nothing to do with making himself sick OD-ing on dessert. No more tonight, mejo." he pronounced, rising to carry the plate to the trash and then the sink.

Jarod watched it go a little sadly, his face sliding into a genuine childlike disappointment reminiscent of Winnie the Pooh on being informed the honey supply had run out.

"And I always thought I'd enjoy having a father."

"I didn't say no burgers or chips or ice cream or whatever. Just try and devote a little of that amazing brain to learning moderation, alright?" Methos advised, ruffling Jarod's hair lightly as he returned to his seat at the table.

"It's not my fault. Calculus, philosophy; those I understand. I only lose perspective when I try to juxtapose the concept of too much with the concept of pepperoni and mushroom pizza."

"We've noticed." the other two chorused in unison.

"Can we get back to what we were discussing before you two got off on a nutrition science tangent? What do you think of the schedule, Mac?"

"It seems perfect on paper. It's real tight, though. No room for repairs if we make a major blunder."

"Then we can't. That's what tonight is for. Minimize errors and fix them before we make them."

"I'm game for a couple more hours. After that I'll have to drag myself to bed."

"That's okay. I'll be up." Jarod offered.

Methos' only response was a reprise of the fatherly "What was that again?" scowl.

"You said it yourself. I don't need much sleep. It's nothing I can change. I've tried a hundred times or more and nothing works. I'm not like the rest of the world. I've learned to accept that; use it to my advantage."

"How?" Methos asked, his expression actively interested, "I've had five thousand years and I still haven't got the knack."

"Sydney. I suppose he knew the day would come when my sense of morality would develop beyond the point where I'd still follow orders blindly. He understood that I'd end up in the world one way or another, so he taught me not to hate what made me special, showed me how to embrace that difference and make it an essential part of me; something I could cherish secretly. I kept that secret most of my life. I was afraid they'd steal that the way they'd stolen everything else. That acceptance of myself is what allows me to get by out here."

"Out here? You still think of the world that way?" Macleod asked, stunned anew, as he always seemed to be, at the depths of his soul that his tortured young friend was willing to expose to people he'd only known a short while.

"I can't think any other way." Jarod explained, gazing not at his friends but out the kitchen window into the night, as if the darkness gave him a strength lighted rooms and compassionate faces did not. "I can't just surgically remove the part of me that is the Centre. They invaded too many places... too much of me is tainted... polluted, contaminated... I'm afraid if I tried to remove it, wash away all of them, their influence... I'd die. There'd be too little left of the real me to survive."

Methos, not expecting such an admission from Jarod, found himself having to rein in his first reaction, knowing Macleod would never let him live down even one tear caught slipping down his cheek.

A quick glance at his good friend excusing himself from the table, head diverted from Methos' sight line, told him his worries were unnecessary. Instead of joining Mac at the sink doing dishes, Methos reached across the table, grasped Jarod's hands and held them tightly between his own.

"They never touched the real you. Never. I know. If I thought... Some of the things I've done have left scars, on my mind if not my body, but they never came close to damaging what I am. I wouldn't be here today if they had."

Seeing Jarod wasn't getting what he was trying to say, Methos pulled him to his feet and dragged him into the living room to stand in front of a mirror that hung just to the left of the kitchen door.

Placing a hand on either side of Jarod's head to prevent him from turning away from the lesson, Methos drew a deep breath and continued. "You look in your own eyes for a minute. I want you to stop looking at the blood they dipped your hands in and the poison they injected into your heart and your head. For one minute, I want you to see what I see. Your soul; your exquisitely beautiful, gentle, touched by the hand of the Almighty, soul."

When Jarod tried to pull away, Methos held him tighter. "No. This is all that matters. You knowing that your soul is clean is all that counts."

"You don't understand. You don't know... what I've done can't be..."

"What makes you think I don't know? I haven't told you even the smallest fraction of the things I've done. I wasn't a child, either, and I wasn't locked up, or having my arm twisted. The stains on my hands are mine Jarod; for all time. You can give yours back if you'll just decide you want to."

"You're not listening. I don't want them to go away. I can't give up my..."

"Your what? Your motivation for seeking vengeance for your pain and anguish over and over? You're not doing it for the same reasons as when you started, son. You know that. Look in your heart. No, look in your eyes. You'll see it's the truth. The truth is always in the eyes."

"Not in mine..." Jarod growled, finally pulling free and stalking away to drop into a large chair several feet from the mirror, his face buried in his arms.

Moving to crouch at Jarod's feet Methos kept pushing, though with less force.

"Why won't you even look into your own eyes? What nasty thing do you expect to see? What is it you're so afraid you'll find?"

Head up now, his dark orbs finding a new window and plumbing the depths of the night once again, Jarod took several shallow breaths then one or two deeper ones, as if trying to gain some measure of control he found difficult to achieve, before he was able to answer.

"Nothing. I know that someday... I'll look in a mirror... and find nothing. I will have become the... soulless, sociopathic freak they bred me to be."

Reaching up to his friend's cheek, Methos gently swiped a tear away then pulled Jarod's head around to show it to him.

"Nothing is without a soul. Nothing and noone... not one creature on this earth can take your soul from you. This... this right here is your evidence. You can feel, you can regret... you can cry."

"And when I can't?"

Lifting himself into the oversized chair with Jarod, Methos grasped his friend's face again, feeling tears of his own threatening to start.

"You stop this, now. You're letting them win. These are their thoughts; their twisted, depraved, malignant thoughts. You give those thoughts back, you hear? You've no claim to them. Don't you dare let them win..."

With his last few words, Methos pulled Jarod's head into his chest and wrapped his arms easily around him, absorbing the younger man's sobs and supporting his shaking body. Not until several minutes later did he realize Macleod was perched on the arm of the chair, patting, soothing and offering his own measure of comfort.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLUE COVE:

"Syd. Sydney. God, Syd, please wake up!"

"Broots? What is it? Are you... why am I asking. Of course you aren't. Your back I presume?"

"Yeah. I didn't wanna wake you, but..."

"It's alright. Tell me." Sydney encouraged, sitting up.

"It hurts. It's so bad. I went to sleep on my side, like you said I should. I must have turned onto my back in the night sometime. Can you..."

"Of course. Come lie down and I'll see what I can learn."

Broots crawled back to his air mattress, wincing with every motion that jarred his already painful lower back. Sydney followed closely, dropping easily to the floor to sit cross-legged by the edge of the makeshift bed. After only a few moments of examination, Sydney knew he could do nothing.

"I'm sorry. The swelling's gotten worse and it's caused a misalignment of the spine. It's the emergency room, I'm afraid."

"No! No, way! You're my doctor. Noone else!"

"You don't have a choice. A small misalignment can only become a larger one, and the large ones become lifelong disabilities. I'll bring the car around. You take all the time you need to dress and such and I'll meet you at the front door."

"No! Syd, stop! You don't understand... Let me explain. Please, come back and sit. It's kind of a long story."

Intrigued, Sydney returned and dropped back into his previous position.

"Around five years ago, I had a wipe-out on my Harley. I busted up my right side pretty good. When I realized I'd broken a couple ribs, I dragged myself to Blue Cove Hospital. If I'd known what I do now, I would have taped 'em up myself and lived with it.
I mean... how was I supposed to know the Centre runs the whole place? They gave me a painkiller... except it wasn't. I didn't find that out for two weeks. They called me down to the infirmary, and kept me for three days. Whatever it was they shot me up with, it didn't do what it supposed to, and they wanted to know why."

Before Sydney spoke, he massaged his chest several times, trying to loosen the heaviness on his heart, even though he knew it was emotional, and not anything he could remove.

"What was it meant to do?"

"Send me into convulsions, they said; make it look like I had some kind of seizure disorder. Anyway, they let me go when the three days was up, but they warned me that I could develop... what was it... temporary globe... no. That's not right."

"Temporal lobe epilepsy."

"Yeah! That's right. Epilepsy I get, but what do the other words mean?"

"The temporal lobe is the front portion of the brain, just behind the forehead. Temporal lobe epilepsy isn't like the more common episodic form. In temporal lobe, the sufferer experiences ultra-real hallucinations. They totally believe what they're seeing. I've even read of some patients with uncontrolled TLE severely injuring or killing themselves trying to escape illusions created by their own minds."

"Great. The way I'm going, I should just walk into Raines' office, tell him what I really think of him and the Centre and let Willy tear my head off and roll it down an elevator shaft."

"Why have you never mentioned this motorcycle accident before?"

"It never came up. Do you really think I'm gonna end up jumping in front of a bus to get away from a nonexistent fifty-foot rat?"

"I wouldn't worry about developing either type of epilepsy my friend. That sounds distinctly like a false front to me; something intended to send you running back to the Centre medical research teams at the slightest sign of anything unusual. Just stay alert to your body's signals. The drug may not cause a seizure disorder, but it will undoubtedly have some... strange effects."

"But... but R&D is working on half a million different projects, most of them beyond top-secret. I could have..."

"Precisely. You could have received anything. As I said, be aware. Just don't let whatever occurs panic you into doing something... reckless."

"Like walking back into the Centre's hands?"

"Yes. Like that. Stay here. I have a friend who's an excellent chiropractor. I just hope she likes me well enough to drag herself out of bed at this hour. By the way; in the morning I expect to hear all about you and motorcycles."

"Help me get a few more hours of pain free sleep and you've got a deal."

A short time later, Sydney returned carrying two objects in his left hand and a cherry wood box in the other. Kneeling by the bed, he laid everything on the floor and began to rub his friend's shoulders, hoping to soothe him through what was to come.

"Terri can't get here until morning. She had a suggestion, but it will require a great deal of you. If you can't handle it, I'll understand, but..."

"Go on. What is it?"

"Her suggestion was to give you a shot, a combination of Demerol and liquid acetaminophen. "

"Are you nuts?! You want to stick a needle in my back?"

"It's the best option I have. I'll place the injection above the bruises. You shouldn't feel any pain for the next eight hours or more. Then we can both get some sleep."

"The other option is..."

"Acupuncture. It means fifteen or twenty extremely thin needles inserted in strategic points in your back and legs..."

"Great bedside manner. I don't want either choice, but I didn't hear any option C."

"You don't trust me. I understand that. After what they did to you at the hospital..."

"It isn't you, Syd. Believe me. I trust you more than anyone in my life. Just go ahead and give me the shot, okay?"

Gratitude for his friend's admission stealing his voice momentarily, Sydney had to swallow before he could speak.

"Alright. You must lie perfectly still. This won't take long I promise."

Only a few minutes later, Sydney had finished his task and Broots opened eyes and fists he had clenched tightly shut.

"Done. How are you feeling? You should already be losing sensation below the injection site."

"I am. The pain's fading. Thank God and thank you, Syd."

"I'm just glad I was here. Get some sleep."

"Okay. sounds good." Broots replied, already drifting away into drug-induced sleep, his eyes slipping nearly closed, then popping open again as some part of his conscious mind fought against the unnatural sensations caused in him by the chemicals.

As the medication finally began to turn the tide of the war, his eyes snapped open for one last moment, but that moment would be one he would never be able to quite erase from his memory, as much as that would later become his fondest wish. What his brain told him he saw in that final flash of awareness that momentous night, he tried to dismiss, in rational morning light, as a side effect of the painkiller, though time would show him how wrong it can be to toss aside visions too easily.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2/Chapter 2---


FOLLOWING MORNING:

"I want you back here today, Sydney."

"I'm very sorry, sir, but I'm still quite ill and Broots' injury is worse than I first thought. He woke last night in severe pain. If I hadn't given him some strong medication, he wouldn't have slept at all. As a matter of fact, he should be waking soon. I should... check on... him. You'll excuse me sir. I think I sense this morning's toast and tea being rejected... You have my word to get back in touch when... when I've... Oh dear..." Sydney moaned, feigning imminent illness as best he could in order to give himself a quick, but plausible, way off the phone.

"If you can't... or won't come to work, I'll come and see you. After lunch, properly dressed whether you're sick or not."

"Of course, Sir. After lunch. See you then." he said, trying to infuse suffering, weakness and fragility into his tone all at the same time. Hanging up, Sydney strode to his closet, searching for anything that might fit Broots when and if the younger man ever decided to rise and shine. A glance at his watch told him time was shorter than he'd thought and he moved back to the air-bed to wake his friend, dropping back into the position he sat in the night before and reaching out to gently vibrate Broots' shoulder.

"Broots. You need to get up. Terri will be here any minute and Mister Parker is paying us a surprise visit later. Please. I know it won't be easy, but you must."

Eyes still closed, Broots tossed halfway onto his left side, and spoke.

"No... you don't know... what did you do..."

The low tone and the evident fear the words contained told Sydney his friend was in the throes of an intense nightmare. Just as he began to reconsider waking him, Broots made the decision for him. Before Sydney could react, Broots had pushed off the air mattress and clambered into his arms, terror widening his eyes, his entire body trembling.

"Broots. Talk to me please. What's happened? What's wrong?" Sydney pleaded quietly, moving his friend into a seated position on the floor next to him.

"I can't... I mean, it wasn't... I'm sorry, Syd. Really sorry. I saw something... I thought I did anyway. Just before I fell asleep last night, the whole room changed. I..."

Unable to explain his vision properly, Broots stopped, his head
lowered, gathering energy to try again. "It was the worst nightmare I've ever had, only it wasn't. I know I was still awake. I know I was."

"Tell me."

"They found Jarod; brought him back. He wasn't... right, though. He was in a wheelchair, wearin those blue clothes like surgeons do. He looked like a zombie and acted about ten miles lower on the food chain than Angelo. He just sat there for a long time... then he looked up, right at me, and started saying 'you helped them, you put me here. you helped them, you put me here...' over and over. God, Syd. I wanted to start screamin', but the drugs were working too fast. I can't get that picture out of my head. It was like I was remembering something I'd seen instead of dreaming. It was so real."

"I know. Sydney empathized, "It was a dream. You have to believe that. Powerful medication can have all kinds of consequences, especially if you aren't accustomed to it. Vivid dreams and nightmares are a common side effect. How's your back this morning?"

"Better; a little."

"Shall I send Terri home?"

"Absolutely not."

"I thought as much. Speaking of Terri, she should be..."

Hearing the bell on the back door, Sydney left the thought incomplete, rose and walked to the intercom by the bedroom door. "Terri?"

"In the flesh and at your service."

"I'll buzz you in. Come straight back to the bedroom."

"On my way."

A few minutes later a tall, rangy brunette strode into the room carrying two gym bags full of equipment as if they contained nothing at all. Dropping them near the air-bed, she embraced Sydney tightly.

"How are you, Abe?"

"Fine. It's good to see you again. It's been far too long since our last session."

"Yes, it has. That ankle will start seizing up on you again if you don't get back to the office soon. This must be your friend with the bad lumbar."

"Hi. Look... I'm sorry... with the shot Sydney gave me... I slept so long I didn't have time to dress or anything..."

"It's okay." she assured him, dropping to her knees by the bags she'd brought. "Shirt and shorts is better for my purposes anyhow. Terri Simonson." she announced, sticking out her hand.

"Broots."

Appraising him carefully with only one eye open, Terri shook her head.

"Can I, Abe?"

"Certainly. Go ahead."

"Herbie? Uh-uh. Not Stewie either. It's a y, not an ie. Ahh. That's it. Just right. Petey."

"Why Petey?"

"He's a cross between Pete Townsend from the Who and the dog from the Little Rascals."

Sydney burst into restrained laughter, while Broots, his expression a mixture of mild fear and total disbelief, slid a few inches further away from the newcomer than he had been sitting.

"How did you know that?"

"You've done it again, Terri." Sydney put in. "It's just something she does, Broots. I've never known quite how. She's never failed that I know of. Who gave you the name?"

"My little sister. She said the same thing; pretty much to the word as a matter of fact."

"Quit trying to scare him, Abe. It's a party trick, that's all. If you'll lay on your stomach, Mr. Broots, I'll see what I can do."

Reluctantly, Broots did as she had asked. Lifting the hem of his shirt, Terri examined the bruises briefly then gave out with a low whistle. "What did you do; tie him to the grill of an eighteen wheeler and ram it into a cement wall?"

"It would take too long too explain."

"The old out. Okay, okay. I'll accept it like I always do. Until I get the alignment right, this will hurt worse than it has since it happened, so bear with me. It should be a quick adjustment, but you never know."

"Her bedside manner's about as good as yours, Syd."

"That's why we like each other so much."

"Again with the jokes. Who ever told you you were funnyyyyy!"

His sentence degenerating into a scream that shredded as it was forced through clenched teeth, Broots arched his body briefly in reaction to the promised pain, then settled back, tense and wary, waiting for the next flash of agony and trying to prepare.

"Lay still, okay? Can I get you another shot?"

"Oh, no! I never want to hear that word again. Never again. Don't even think about it!"

Gazing quickly at Sydney, Terri received a look that said he would answer her questions later. As she had for years, she let him have his secrets, whether temporary or eternal, and went back to her work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I haven't decided."

"What is there to decide? This is mine. I'm eminently qualified and I'm also the only one who can do it."

"No. You aren't. Be that as it may..."

"I am. You'll never find her. I can. I can find her and him and lay them both at your feet."

"You talk as if your sister participated in her own abduction."

"Didn't she? She walked in here, presented you with an agenda but no details and walked out again. That tells me she knew more than she was saying to anyone. Don't forget; you're the one who let her go. Any tragedy is on your shoulders. I've already spoken to Dr. Raines. If you refuse to do anything about Jarod's crimes, he will, and I'll be right beside him when he does."

"Will you?"

"In a New York minute... if you leave me no other choice. He's offered me, shall we say a very.... attractive post in his division. It seems like whether or not I take it is up to you."

After a long, pensive silence, hands folded on his desk as he gazed at his son, Mister Parker finally spoke.

"No, son. It's up to you. If you'd be happier working under Dr. Raines, then by all means I'll initiate the transfer as soon as possible. I would never force you to stay where you don't feel you're accomplishing anything."

For several minutes, Lyle gave his father his own version of the silent treatment before realizing it was having no effect. Smoothing invisible wrinkles from his suit jacket in order to keep his hands from clenching, Lyle drew in a deep breath through his nose and released it the same way before leaving a parting shot for his father and stalking from the room.

"I will find my sister, Jarod and whoever helped him do this, I will bring them here and then they, and you, will pay dearly for betraying the Centre."

When his son had cleared the room, slamming the door nearly hard enough to split the hinges in half, Mister Parker picked up the phone and dialed a long series of numbers.

"You were right."

"You knew. I shouldn't have had to push your nose in your mistake."

"We can't afford to lose him. He's still valuable to..."

"Noone is valuable forever. The sand is rapidly running through his hourglass... and yours. Let one warning be sufficient."

"You don't dare to threaten my position here....."

"You threaten yourself." he was reminded curtly, then swiftly hung up on.

This time, the dial tone seemed to draw out of him a far more powerful rage than even the call from Jarod had. He dropped the receiver back into its cradle as if his hand had gone numb, oblivious when the curved piece of plastic bounced away from its intended goal and clattered to the floor.

Gliding his chair back from the desk, he stood, but remained still, as if he had forgotten what he'd started out to do, myriad expressions crossing and re-crossing his face. For a long time, he simply stared his hands, first the palms, and then the backs, turning them over again and again, as if he expected to discover all the answers to his problems there but had found only blank space; further disappointment and frustration.

Glancing up, his eye caught the glass table in front of the new sofa. Walking to the corner where the majority of the of the furniture in his office sat, he dropped to the couch, retrieving his wife's picture, but gazing at it only briefly before relegating it to the cushions beside him. Placing his palms flat on the translucent surface, he slid them back and forth, as if he were trying to absorb the coolness and clarity of the glass through his pores.

Mercifully for him, his conscious mind retreated when, moments later, he slammed both palms through the glass with all the force he possessed. Only when the self-induced amnesia faded back in to an image of the glittering ruin of his table, the shards now spattered with the blood from his sliced and broken hands, did he begin to feel the full effect of the damage he had done to himself.

His senses restored, the blankness in his eyes now utterly banished in favor of a grimace of pain, Mister Parker stood and moved into his private bath to rinse his wounds and determine how badly lacerated and broken his hands actually were. He was still assessing his injuries when his son, having heard the crash, rushed back in followed by two security guards. Hearing the water running, he assumed his father was at least alive, if not particularly alright judging by the coffee table, and dismissed the other men. Hearing the phone receiver softly buzzing out a busy signal, he moved to replace it then joined his father in the small washroom.

"What happened?"

"An accident. I obviously can't drive now, so you'll have to take my afternoon appointment for me."

"Me? Since when did I become worthy of doing your errands again?"

"You are still a member of this organization, you are still under my orders and you will follow them without sarcasm and without question. Is that clearly understood?"

"Clear as glass. Who's the appointment with?"

"Sydney. I had arranged to meet him at his place after lunch, but..."

"The "accident." I get it. You're not going to tell me what really happened, are you?"

All Lyle received for his badgering was a stern glare and more commands.

"Be there by one. No later. Seeing you will be a surprise. Use that to your advantage. Find out what he's hiding about your sister's disappearance and confirm that Broots was actually injured. I'm not sure whether to believe either of their stories. Get me the truth."

"As only I can. You will be okay, right?"

"Fine. Go eat. Don't be late for your appointment."

"I won't. See you when I get back."

"I'll want a detailed report."

"Of course." Lyle tossed over his shoulder as he left.

Only a step or two behind, Mister Parker followed him out, headed for the infirmary to have the wounds he didn't remember receiving stitched and dressed, planning as he walked how to avoid bothersome questions and quietly dispose of the remains of his office coffee table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mr. Lyle. I was expecting Mister Parker." Sydney said on opening the door to the wrong official visitor. "Please. Come in."

"My father had other business come up at the eleventh hour. He sends his regrets."

"Can I get you coffee?"

"Whiskey neat, if you have it."

"Of course. Any particular favorite brand?"

"Anything will do. Just put it in a tall glass and bring it."

"Right." Sydney replied, moving slowly to the liquor cabinet on the far wall. "I've been sipping warm brandy for the past hour or so. It seems to be the only thing I can keep on my stomach."

"Really. Where was it you said you got this monster case of food poisoning again?"

"It wasn't that bad. A severe case would have put me in the hospital. All the same, it's been bad enough." Sydney commented as he walked to where Lyle stood gazing out the window that faced on the back yard. Handing the other man his drink, Sydney grabbed his own snifter of amber liquid and sank into a chair. "It was a place called Samuels, down by the water. I was rather shocked, actually. I've been there many times and never even the hint of a problem. I trust they had no idea, themselves, that the seafood had gone off. I ate it, and I couldn't tell there was a thing wrong. Until later of course."

"And the accident?"

"Broots was waiting for me in the car across the street. I must have looked dreadful when I left the restaurant. I certainly was beginning to feel that way. He took one look and rushed across the street to help me, ignoring the traffic, unfortunately. The first car brushed him and turned him around. The second tried to stop but managed to strike him in the lower back regardless. The injury wasn't crippling by any means, thank the Lord, but he's still in considerable pain."

"Where is he now?"

"Asleep in the bedroom. I think he's still groggy from the dose of medication I gave him last night."

The momentary look of panic and fear on Lyle's face when he whirled to face Sydney shocked and confused the older man, though it was there and gone so fast he wasn't sure it had ever been.

"What did you give him?"

"Pardon me?"

"Open your ears, doctor. What did you give him?"

"A low dose of demerol mixed with liquid acetaminophen. Why?" Sydney questioned, all his instincts snapping to full attention. "The combination is perfectly safe..."

"I'm sure it is. I need to see him."

The hairs at the nape of his neck rising, Sydney suddenly felt compelled to safeguard Broots from Lyle. Even though he had no real reason to fear for his friend's life, he found himself doing just that.

"That wouldn't be wise just now. He needs all the rest he can get."

"I don't intend to wake him up. My orders are to confirm that he was actually injured. As soon as I've done that, then you and I can sit down with our drinks... and have a long productive conversation. Lead the way."

"I'm sorry... sir. I can't allow him to be disturbed. We should both be back at work by tomorrow. If he wishes to let you examine him then, I won't interfere. Right now, he's practically unconscious. I wouldn't let anyone in to see him in such a vulnerable state."

{Especially not you,} he thought, {and especially not the way you're acting right now.}

"I'm not anyone... doctor. My orders come from your direct chain of command superior, and that makes me as much your superior as he is. You will do as you've been told. I'm sure you've witnessed what happens to those who don't."

"Far too often, actually." Sydney replied in a low tone, rising slowly from the chair. "Alright. You're not to touch him. I'll show you what you want to see, then we leave him alone."

Walking slightly ahead of Lyle, Sydney took only a step or two before being hauled roughly backwards by his elbows, both arms held tightly behind him and Lyle whispering gutturally in his right ear.

"Listen very closely. I barely tolerate taking orders from my father anymore. I'm certainly not taking them from you. Are we absolutely clear on that point?"

"Perfectly, but if I even sense that you intend to harm him, I'll see that you answer to a power higher than your father, the Tower or the Triumvirate."

"We have quite a high opinion of ourselves, don't we?"

"Oh, no. Not myself. If you harm either one of us I'll send you to meet God without an ounce of regret. Let him be your final judge."

No longer so smug or in control, Lyle released Sydney abruptly, shoving him forward at the same time.

"Go. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you and I can get down to our business."

Rubbing his arms where Lyle's hands had clutched him, Sydney walked down the short hall off the living room that led to the more private areas of the house, including the bedrooms, thinking all the while that he might just make good on his threat, regardless of what might happen in the next few minutes.

When he entered the room where Broots lay buried under a comforter, deeply asleep, Lyle remained in the doorway.

"Come in, as long as you keep in mind..."

"If I wanted to, I would. Lift up the quilt so I can get a good look."

Moving slowly, to avoid even the slightest chance of awakening his friend, Sydney rolled the near edge of the spread toward himself just enough for Lyle to see that Broots' bruises were genuine, then replaced it. Gazing calmly at Lyle, Sydney gestured out the door.

"If you're satisfied..."

"Never, but it'll have to do. Shall we have that discussion now?"

"Actually, no. Whatever it was will have to wait until I return to work. It's been a very tiring morning, and I was already ill, as I believe I said earlier. I'd prefer you leave. I'll walk you out..."

As the other man passed him, Lyle grabbed him by his already tender forearm and dragged him back into the living room.

"Your preferences are worth about as much as your life will be if I don't get some straight answers and pretty damn fast. Sit." he growled tossing his captive into a nearby chair. "You know more about what happened to my sister than you've told anybody yet. Well now you're going to tell me. I want everything; every expression on her face, every word she said, everything."

"Do you? I wouldn't be so sure."

Sliding his pistol from his waistband, Lyle chambered a bullet then let his gun hand rest at his side.

"Answer me, or sleeping beauty will have to call the coroner and a maid with a real strong stomach when he wakes up."

"A weapon is no incentive to cooperation or truth."

His face contorted with frustration, Lyle covered the foot or two that separated him from Sydney in a flash of movement. The gun found its way to the older man's temple even faster.

"I don't want Aristotle and Plato. Give me one straight answer... just one... and maybe I won't spread that brilliant mind of yours all over your pretty drapes."

"You already know everything relevant. She went willingly. She wanted to be there. Jarod simply changed the rules of the game."

Though he tried to hide his fear, Sydney tensed visibly when the weapon against his skin impressed itself deeper.

"More."

"She was happy. It was the first time in weeks I've really seen her smile. She made a call or two, tidied up her desk and left."

"Calls to who?"

Gazing up past the steel barrel, Sydney answered testily, his anger beginning to get the best of him.

"I wasn't on the other end of the phone."

Lips tightening in rage, Lyle brought his pistol up and down faster than Sydney's eyes could follow it, using the butt to strike the older man a solid blow on the top of the shoulder. Pain roaring through his neck and right arm, Sydney slumped a few inches lower in the chair, his eyes squeezing shut, his mind fighting off the shock of the sudden assault.

"Do you even understand the concept of a straight answer?! I really hope so, otherwise you and Broots may both end up in the morgue at the Centre with lots of doctors in white coats wondering how I turned you inside out. Now... sit up... and talk to me!" Lyle screamed, lifting Sydney roughly by his injured arm, forcing him to comply. "Did she say where she was going?"

"She didn't... know. I... I think that was... all part of the game. I asked, but... she didn't seem to want to know. Too much fun... leaving it a surprise."

"Has she called you?"

"Of course not. Jarod would never allow it."

"So you have had contact with him."

"You already know I have. Jarod and I communicate frequently."

"That won't last much longer if I have my say."

"You... you have to know you'll never truly capture Jarod now. Don't you see that? Even if we drag him back in, he would be of no use to us. His experiences in the world have tainted his objectivity. He'd starve himself before he'd do any more sims, and he can't do anything hooked up to IV fluids. You'd end up killing him. Why bring him back if that's the only possible ending?"

"Smart as you are, you still don't get it do you? This isn't about Jarod anymore. It's about redeeming the reputation of the Centre. He's dumped humiliation on all of us for years, but this time... He's taken it one step beyond. Noone... noone, including and especially Jarod, comes after my family and gets off. One way or the other, he will pay for his crimes."

The pain in his right side still raging, sensing that no matter what he said his life would be forfeit, Sydney spoke from his heart and his conscience, intent on keeping Lyle's attention on him and away from Broots; not quite believing the words that came out of his mouth, but receiving renewed strength simply from the saying of them.

"And yours? Who, besides God almighty, will pass judgment on you for the inhumanity and evil you've committed in the name of your sick, twisted thoughts or the Centre's edicts?"

Strolling slowly around the back of the chair, Lyle grinned as he laid the business end of his pistol at the base of Sydney's neck.

"Don't hold back, Syd. Tell me what you really think."

"You've always known that. I don't need to tell you anything."

Sitting straighter, Sydney kept his eyes forward and waited for his own judgment to come, praying the end would be as swift and as painless as he'd always heard gunshots to the head could be.

Suddenly, as abruptly as the cold steel had first touched his skin, the contact vanished. The solid thump of Lyle hitting the floor sent Sydney sprinting out of his chair, despite his injury, and around the back of the chair to determine what had happened.

He found Broots standing over a deeply unconscious Lyle, a wooden meat pounder from the kitchen in his hand, the tool still wet with the blood from a fresh wound on top of the other man's head.

"Broots! What could have possessed you to..."

"He was ready to shoot you." Broots replied quietly, unable to tear his eyes from Lyle's blood as it dripped back onto the one it had come from.

"Broots. Look at me. I need you to look at me. Put that down."

Finally seeming to understand what he was holding, Broots dropped the wooden tool as if it were toxic and burning his skin and refocused his attention on Sydney. "Good. Now.... how could you possibly know what was going on out here? The last I saw of you, you were deeply asleep."

"It was just like last night. I was just wakin' up and the whole room vanished again. I saw you lying on the carpet in front of this chair... you were dead. Lyle laughed down at you, turned back, chambered a bullet and... and headed for the bedroom. You have to stop this, Syd. I couldn't take another repeat of this stuff. Make it stop, Syd, okay?"

Feeling tears begin to slide from one eye, Broots turned away, but Sydney turned him back.

"We can try to figure this out later, my friend, whatever is happening. Right now, he's our first concern. I think I know the solution, but we don't have much time to implement it, so you have to help. Can you put your fear aside for the moment? I understand it won't be easy. I'm sorry if I seem insensitive, but..."

"No. I can do it, as long as you promise me you'll try and fix me after. This really scares me."

"I know. Please go and get the coil of climbing rope in the garage. Before we can do anything, I need to make sure he won't be leaving unless I want him to."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Gathering a few things from my medical bag."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're sure?"

"As sure as my Boy Scout training can make me. He's goin' nowhere."

"Let's hope so. One sudden move and the needle could break under his skin. Removing it would require surgery, leaving scars... I'd really rather not send him out of here with any sign of injury except the head wound."

"What are you giving him anyway?"

"This first is a mild hallucinogenic. It should make him suggestible enough for my needs. That way the second will be more effective."

"And the second is..."

"Styx-15."

When Sydney spoke the words, Broots paled, his eyes popping as he stumbled backwards away from his friend.

"What... how... noone is supposed to have access to that except Raines and his research team!"

"And I have a DSA player in my trunk. Someday I'll share more of my deepest secrets with you, but right now, I need your help, so please come back over here."

"What can I do? I already knocked him out. I did my part."

"You did fine. Just for safety's sake, I want you to kneel on his hand. He'll be coming around soon, and he'll be furious. I can't take even the slightest chance."

"You better hurry with that first shot." Broots warned, watching Lyle's eyelids begin to flutter.

"I'm ready." Sydney responded, tapping the barrel of the syringe and releasing a tiny amount of the amber liquid to be certain no air remained in the barrel or the needle. He had just begun to swab the inside of Lyle's elbow with alcohol when Mister Parker's strong right hand awoke, his face suffusing with total rage as he finally understood his situation.

"You... what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Assuring our safety and your potential redemption. This is much more than you deserve. I trust that somewhere, very deep inside yourself, you know that. There are any number of drugs, here and at the Centre, that I could have given you and been sure your eyes would never open again. Instead, I decided to offer you what I believe Jarod is offering your sister; a second chance to choose the direction your life will take. I can only pray that the evil in you hasn't become so deeply rooted that it will prevail despite what I'm about to do. Broots. Now, please."

Broots obeyed and the first injection was successful.

"When I tell my father and the Triumvirate about this..."

"If luck is with us, they'll never know what happened to you. I think it must be, since Broots was able to save not only my life but also his own by knocking you unconscious before you could shoot either one of us. You were going to shoot him as well? No need to answer. I know what you were going to do."

"Answer one for me then."

"If I can."

"How the hell did the weasel get the drop on me? I always know he's there."

"Since you won't remember any of this conversation in a few moments anyway, I suppose it won't do any harm." Sydney replied, preparing the second syringe. "Since I gave him the painkiller last night, he's begun experiencing pre-cognitive visions; the result, I assume, of an unauthorized experiment you've been running out of Blue Cove hospital?" The terror and fruitless outrage Sydney found creeping into Lyle's expression told him he was right. "He saw what you were going to do beforehand and had the tremendous courage to come out and stop you. I've already commended him. You didn't hear him because he'd been asleep. Bare feet."

"Broots...You have to get back to the Centre... let the med teams and the psych staff help you... damn..." Lyle swore quietly, desperately trying to shake off the effects of the head wound and fight the drug dragging him down into a sea of dark water and white noise. "I can tell you who to go to for help..."

"Sure. I vanish and your butts are covered. No, thanks. I've got Syd. He's all I need."

"But... you don't understand... what it is... you were given."

"I don't wanna know. I didn't ask for this. How could..."

Broots stopped himself, censoring the unaccustomed angry words flowing through his mind, intensely disliking the hostile sensations Lyle created in him.

"Broots." Sydney urged. "Go make me up an ice bag and a pot of hot tea would you?"

"But..."

"Please. I've seen this part. It's nasty and ugly. You shouldn't have those images to deal with for the rest of your life."

"Like you do?"

Sydney kept his silence. "I'll be right back." Broots conceded, walking into the kitchen, afraid to leave Sydney alone with someone so dangerous, but more afraid of witnessing the effects of the Styx-15.

"Sydney..."

"This is necessary. I'm sorry."

Drifting in and out of reality, Lyle gathered the strength to ask one final question.

"What... is that?"

"Styx-15. I'm hoping it, and my skill at post-hypnotic suggestion, will be all you need to make a change in your path."

"Sty... No! Oh, God, no! Sydney... stop!"

His pleas going unanswered, Lyle finally lost the battle against the hallucinogen, his gaze swimming around the room, head slipping slightly to one side as Sydney administered the second shot.

"Listen very carefully. In a moment, you will hear a sentence beginning with the words "the key is". When I complete this sentence, all you know of your past will be erased from both your conscious and sub-conscious mind. What you are now, what you have been, will be irretrievably gone, leaving only space to be filled by the moments, hours, and days after you awake. After you regain consciousness, this sentence will have no effect on you. The key is refuge."

As he had to do with nearly all the children and adults, except Jarod, that he'd seen subjected to Styx, Sydney had to turn away from the twitching, writhing body and tortured expression of his enemy.

Jarod had been the first one he'd ever seen be given the drug. There were still times, even now, when the memory haunted his nights, refusing him sleep, his own heart indicting him for not doing something to stop the torture and mental rape of a child he had already come to love.

Though he knew that what he had done was the only humane solution, and a great deal better than he had been tempted to do for him, Sydney still couldn't bring himself to watch as Lyle fought the commands he'd been given and the chemical compound reinforcing them. Only when Lyle had quieted did Sydney rise, favoring his injured shoulder badly, and make his way to the kitchen to join Broots.

"Is it over?"

"Yes. For now. There's still a bit of work to do, unfortunately. I'll need your help again. At best this shoulder is only dislocated, at worst..."

"It's swelling pretty bad. I don't think "at best" is an option. You know I'll help, Syd. We owe each other everything now." Broots reminded his friend, placing the ice bag gently on Sydney's shoulder and a cup of hot, sweet tea in his hands. "So what's first?"

"In the bedroom closet, there's an old costume, a monk's robe. You'll need to go to the costume shop downtown and get one to fit yourself. The sandals should be in the closet as well. I think the smaller pair should fit you. I'll explain the rest when you get back."

"How long will he be out?"

"The effects will last at least twenty-four more hours, possibly longer. We'll have all the time we need."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"But... he should have been... back long ago. If anything had... happened or... gone wrong, he would have made contact." Mister Parker grumbled, his sentences sprinkled with hesitations as the suture needle moved in and out of his skin.

Gazing over his shoulder at the man behind him, he considered ordering him to help, but immediately quashed the thought, knowing he always got more cooperation from Raines when the ghoul believed the idea to act had been his own.

"I warned you when you first presented your absurd proposal to the Tower. I told you then that Melissa was not Centre operative material. If you had only allowed..."

"Molly. Her name is Molly."

"You know I despise nicknames for children. They undermine proper discipline. Children must always be called by the Christian names they were given at birth."

"Really? Mind telling me what I should call Jarod, then, when he calls next?"

"Getting a little spirited in our free speech, aren't we? What you call him is beyond irrelevant. Just show me someone who can succeed where you've failed and find him!"

"We don't need anyone else. She'll be back soon. Jarod may delight in playing his little head-games with the Centre, but I've learned he's a man of his word. He'll return her."

"In what condition?" Raines purred, low, rough and close to Parker's ear, then moved slowly out of the infirmary cubicle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I feel stupid, Syd. I may have the sex life of a monk, but this is going too far...

"It won't be much longer. If anyone happens to see us helping him into the abbey, they'll assume we belong here. Come. Help me get him out of the car."

Moving to join Sydney at the passenger's side of the car, Broots slipped an arm around Lyle's shoulder and together the two friends lifted the lifeless body and walked it to the back door of the monastery, where friends of Sydney's, who were actual monks, waited to receive the unusual delivery. Passing Lyle off to the men behind him, the abbot then turned back and embraced Sydney carefully, but with much affection.

"So good to see you, Abe! You can't stick around, though. We'll take good care of whoever he is. Go quickly, now, before you're spotted."

"See you early in the morning."

"Yes. It'll be wonderful to have you back, even if only for a short time."

"If it were my choice..."

"I know. Please go. Being seen here would put you in a great deal more danger than it would us."

"Until tomorrow, Micheal."

"Yes. Until. Go!"

As Sydney slid gingerly into the passenger's side of the car, he caught an openly curious look from the man behind the wheel.

"I did promise, and I'll fulfill it. Just not now. Let's get home. You have some things you have yet to tell me as well, don't forget. Motorcycles I believe it was?"

"Did you say home? Sounds like a great idea. Let's go."

Smiling at Broots avoidance of the subject, Sydney sat back and wound down as much as he possibly could on the short trip back to his house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Twice in one day? Did you and Petey join the NFL or something?"

"Please. No..."

"I know. No questions. Right shoulder?"

"Yes." Sydney confirmed, hissing in pain as Terri examined and gently manipulated the joint.

"Definitely dislocated. There could be rotator cuff damage too. It's impossible to tell without an MRI."

"What can you recommend as a stop-gap measure?"

"Not much. Without knowing if the rotator cuff is torn, I don't dare try to reseat the shoulder. How long do you plan to put off treating this thing?"

"Only a day or two."

"You can keep it in a sling that long. No longer, or you'll need physical therapy to restore full function."

"I understand."

"You should. You waited almost twenty years to go to anyone about that ankle. Why, I'll never know."

"That's right." Sydney replied, smiling sadly at Terri as she deftly twisted a long strip of white cloth from her bag into a properly sized sling and slid his arm into it just as an unexpected knock on the door startled them all momentarily.

Strolling to the living room intercom panel, Sydney touched the send button, simultaneously adding the weak, ill tones back into his voice. When his visitor responded, Sydney found himself feeling extremely grateful he had.

"Afternoon, Sydney. Open the door."

"Dr. Raines. Of course, sir. Hold on just a moment, won't you? I'll be right there."

Shooing Broots into the bedroom and Terri out the back door, Sydney moved slowly to the door, using the thought of what could have happened to Miss Parker in Raines' hands to achieve the sickly, pale look he needed the man outside to see.

"Good day, sir. Please come in. I wasn't aware we had an appoi..."

"Mister Parker had an... accident. Where's Lyle?"

"Mr. Lyle? He hasn't been here today."

"He sent Mr. Lyle in his place. Are you asking me to believe he never showed up?"

"It's the truth. I haven't heard from or seen him since Monday."

"Broots?"

"Asleep. His back is still bothering him a great deal."

"And you?"

"Me, sir?"

"The sling. Did you contract some new strain of food poisoning that has side effects I haven't heard about?"

The slight undercurrent of genuine interest beneath Raines' words made Sydney want to shudder, but he hid it well and concocted a cover story off the top of his head.

"No. Of course not... sir. I've been so weak that I slipped getting out of the shower and rammed this arm and shoulder dead on into a towel rack."

"Not having a lucky week are we?"

"It appears we aren't. How bad is Mister Parker's injury?"

"Not severe. A few lacerations and stitches. I'll only ask this once more, Sydney. I wouldn't advise lying. If you know where Lyle is, tell me now. It will go easier on you when you stand before the Triumvirate."

His gaze steady, his expression never wavering from the vaguely interested, deeply weary one he'd worn since his visitor had entered, Sydney responded quickly. His voice was quiet, but with such an undertone of steel that it would have backed anyone but Raines off at least two steps, if not more.

"As I said, he hasn't come to the house today. I didn't even see him Monday, actually. I only spoke to him on the phone. I give you my word of honor. If he had been here, I would tell you."

"I don't believe you, Sydney. I think you have the information I want. You know precisely where both the Parker children are. If you can't... or won't tell me, I think I know who you will tell. With a little... persuasion, of course."

"That won't be necessary." Sydney replied, the conviction in his voice even stronger now than it had been.

"If I want Lyle back, I have a distinct feeling it is. Since you obviously can't drive yourself, shall we ride to the Centre together?"

"I'll be staying here with Broots. He's on fairly heavy pain meds and I can't leave him unattended."

"I believe this is the first time you've ever defied me... doctor. Openly, that is. Privately is another matter. I can't know everything, of course. Fine. You stay." Raines announced, turning to go. "Once my discussion with the Tower is concluded, someone will be by to... invite you to your hearing."

His heart racing, Sydney found himself fighting off a sudden urge to call the other man back and confess all his sins from kindergarten forward. He won the battle at the last minute by focusing on an almost inaudible voice speaking from the depths of his mind, one he hadn't allowed himself to hear in a long time. It hit him, for the first time that the familiar, dark voice was no longer his alone, but had become a combination of his and Jarod's.

//It's alright, Sydney. Soon it won't matter. None of it will matter. Concentrate on keeping Broots and yourself alive. The rest will be what it will be...\

Hearing Raines' car start, Sydney snapped back from his reveries and moved as quickly as he could to consult with Broots on how their plans might have to be altered now that Raines had decided to involve himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NEXT DAY:

"Necessary? What does necessary have to do with anything? It's five a.m., I'm awake and I'm back in the Friar Tuck outfit. Ughhh. Sneaky stuff is for morning people."

"It shouldn't take long. I need to be present when he comes around. Just in case."

"You said this method should be practically foolproof." Broots replied, sliding the car slowly into a spot behind the abbey where it would be less likely to be sighted.

"Practically is the important word. Nothing's perfect. If he should recognize either of us, I'll have to re-sedate him and return with supplies to maintain him in that state indefinitely."

"Indef... you mean put him in a coma?"

"A chemically induced one, yes."

Though he shuddered inwardly at the thought, Broots managed to keep his expression from showing it as he opened Sydney's door and helped him out of the car.

"Whatever you have to do, Syd, I'm right here for you. You know that. I'll help however I can."

"I'm grateful. I couldn't have gotten through any of this if..."

"Oh, no. We both know the truth, Syd. You wouldn't be in any of this if it hadn't been for me." Broots countered as the two walked to the side door of the abbey.

"We'll discuss your overblown guilt complex later. Let's just finish this, shall we? Then we can both go home and get some sleep."

When his friend's grip on his good arm faltered slightly, Sydney glanced quickly at Broots, but found nothing but a small, tight smile covering a lot of grim determination, and decided to let it go.

"Abe. Welcome. Get in here, and put a wiggle on it! One or two of the brothers reported seeing a lot more dark suits and sunglasses in town this morning than there should be."

"They haven't gotten near the abbey?"

"Not so far. I think we kind of intimidate them. Even if they did dare, there's always the vow of silence routine."

"They wouldn't believe it. They can't afford to. Our... assault victim is too important to them. Hopefully..."

"It's alright, Abe. He's on the isolation floor. Noone who didn't know this place intimately would ever suspect it even exists."

"I remember. How was he this morning?"

"Out cold last I knew. Peaceful and calm."

"He won't be that way much longer. Perhaps we'd better..."

"I've got a 'round the clock watch on him. We have time for a cup of herbal. C'mon." The abbot encouraged, leading the pair down a short flight of stone steps into a simple cozy, kitchen, warmed and lit by an enormous fireplace.

"Wow! My dream kitchen. Look at that stone bread oven! Man, if I had this set-up I'd be baking and doing soups and stews every day, all day long." Broots enthused quietly.

Surprised, Sydney questioned Broots as the other took a seat across from him at a long wooden table.

"You cook?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, taking care of Debbie on my own, I had to learn. I took a few classes then went from there. I make a pretty decent cinnamon-swirl bread."

"Yes? You'll have to bring some to the house. That's one of my favorites with my coffee in the morning, but I haven't found one made in the U.S. that I like." Sydney replied, smiling lightly as he accepted a stoneware mug of tea from the abbot and passed one to Broots.

"You haven't really introduced me to your friend, Abe."

"Goodness, you're right. Abbot Michael Fredrickson, Chris Broots."

"Everybody just uses my last name." Broots added hastily, shaking Michael's hand then hiding behind his mug of tea.

"Christopher?"

No... actually. It's short for Christian."

"A name to be proud of, young man."

"I guess so. I never thought about it. I've just been Broots for such a long time."

"I've tried for years to get him to use his given name, but I've had no luck. I keep telling how much I like it..."

"Well, I don't, so..."

Broots lost his train of thought as one of the other monks came striding into the room, spoke quietly with Michael, then rushed out again.

"Grab your tea, gentlemen. Time to go."

"He's awake?"

"Getting there."

"Has he spoken?"

"A few words."

"And?"

"Paulo didn't say, and I don't read minds. Relax, Abe. I know how important this is for you. When we get to isolation... we'll see."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Sydney's frustration, Michael forbid either man to go near Lyle until the medical staff had been consulted. When he returned, he explained that, although he had received a real status report, the wait was also part of the illusion.

"He's been told he's in a sort of isolation ward. I didn't want him thinking I'd just let you in without the approval of the doctors."

"Can we see him now?"

"Of course. Medically, he seems to be alright. He'll have a whopper of a headache."

"Syd, wait. I just realized. Why am I here?" Broots asked.

"Compassion. Hold his hand, make comforting noises, things like that. Besides, one man could never have gotten him into the building alone. Everything has to look just right." Sydney answered as he and Broots walked to the bed and watched Michael begin to try to get a response from Lyle.

Broots, playing his part to the hilt, immediately knelt on the floor, grabbed a damp cloth from the bowl beside the bed and began stroking it over Lyle's brow and cheeks, clucking and trying to sound deeply sympathetic without using actual words.

"Sir. Can you speak to me?"

"Wh... who are you? What's happened?"

"Well. Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"Fuzzy. My head's killing me."

"That's about right. You have quite a scalp wound. It isn't serious, more superficial than anything, but it will take a while to heal and it's going to hurt like the devil while it does. Otherwise you seem to be fine."

"Where am I? How did I... end up here?"

"You're in St. Marks Abbey. These two brothers found you laying in the alley just outside our doors. You were unconscious and bleeding badly."

"How long?"

"Three days. Almost four, actually. You were starting to worry us a little. Do you feel up to a few questions? Brother Abraham just had one or two."

"I... I suppose."

"Hello. Welcome back to the world. What's the last thing you remember clearly before you were attacked?"

His brow furrowed, eyes closed for several moments, Lyle pushed and dug in his mind but could find only blankness.

"Nothing. There... there's nothing there. I don't understand... why can't I remember?"

"You will. Try once more. How about your name?"

"No. I mean... I don't seem to..."

"It's alright. Memory loss is common with head injury. It's only temporary, I'm sure. Unfortunately, Brother Christian and I found no identification among your clothing. We have to call you something unique. ' Hey over there' has applied to everyone in the abbey at some point. I'd say... yes. He looks like a James. What would you say Abbot?"

"Hmmm. James suits him. How about it, son? Would James be alright for the time being?"

"James? I... it would be fine... I guess. Yeah. James. I like it."

"Good. We'll let you rest, now. Oh, by the way. Since your tests show you aren't ill, we'll move you out of isolation tomorrow."

"Why the wait?"

"The doctors want to be absolutely sure the head injury isn't worse than it seems. Trust me. Their caution has saved dozens of lives."

Broots had abandoned the cloth and now had a gentle grasp on "James' " left hand, caressing and patting while continuing the meaningless sounds of solace.

"Doesn't he speak?"

"No, actually. He's been a mute most of his life. He's been so distraught since he and Brother Abraham found you. He kept signing to us that he felt if he'd been out there a few moments earlier, he might have prevented your injury. For his sake... for all our sakes, I'm very glad you're alright."

"No more than I am."

"I'm sure that's true. Get some rest, James. I'll be back to see you after lunch."

After tugging "Brother Christian" away from James' side, Michael walked Sydney and Broots back to the concealed elevator that had brought the three of them to the isolation level. Sydney and the abbot barely managed to suppress their laughter until the elevator doors closed.

"That was wonderful, Chris! You were so convincing, *I* almost bought into it!" Michael crowed.

Blushing heavily, Broots smiled, accepted the praise and began to work out how he was going to explain to Sydney about his plan to never sleep again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOUR HOURS LATER- SEACOUVER:

"Hey. It's your wake-up call. Breakfast is here."

"I'm up." Parker called from behind the screened-off facilities in the corner. "Put the tray on the bed."

Methos, a wicked grin on his face, placed the tray then walked quietly to within a foot or two of the screens and spoke softly.

"Your eggs Florentine are getting cold."

Shocked to hear his voice so close by, when the feeling that signaled his approach was still so faint, Parker rushed out carrying one high heel and wearing the other.

"What the..."

"No alcohol, no sedative. The sensation has gone back to what it should be; a doorbell instead a combination car alarm and foghorn."

"Doorbell... The question I asked at the airport; would I get a straight answer now if I asked again?"

"Not yet. Go eat. Cold spinach and eggs is rather disgusting."

Taking his seat on the far side of the long table, Methos was pleasantly surprised when Parker retrieved the tray, brought it to the table and dropped into a chair across from him. Recognizing progress on her part when he saw it, he took the fortune that had fallen to him and let her eat without trying to pull her into a conversation.

Even after she'd finished and pushed the tray down the table, Methos stayed silent, contemplatively sipping a cup of lukewarm coffee and watching her, willing to leave the decisions up to her. Finally, growing mildly frustrated, she made the first move.

"You haven't said a damn word since you sat down."

"Would you like me to?"

"Anything's better than breakfast with Marcel Marceau."

"Alright. What shall we talk about?"

"You're asking me? This is your game."

"It isn't, though. Games have no real purpose or meaning. Your being here does."

"And I find out what that is..."

"Tomorrow, maybe the day after. We'll see. Anything else on your mind?"

"Again. Why ask me?"

"Okay. I was wrong to think that a reasonably intelligent woman could produce a topic of conversation off the top of her head. Guess that leaves it up to me. What were you and my predecessor talking about last time he was here?"

Her expression darkening and shutting down, Parker responded without hesitation.

"Out of bounds."

"Really? Mind telling me why?"

"That would mean telling you what, and I said... that's out of bounds."

Unwilling to let Parker opt out, Methos waited several minutes, giving her every chance to rejoin him on her own, then gently began enticing her back into the delicate, deliberate waltz he was creating as he went along.

"You did have an agreement with my partner. Right or wrong?"

When no response came, he tried again. "Well? Did you or didn't you? I wouldn't want to hold you to something you never said yes or no to."

"Yes. We had a... bargain."

"The jist of which was..."

"Total honesty for total honesty."

"Yeah? Okay. I'm willing to continue with that. You plan on keeping up your end?"

"I don't renege on agreements."

"Is that the only reason you're still with the Centre?"

Met with more stony silence, Methos gave her a warm smile in return and continued. "Hmmm. We'll get back to that. So. What were the two of you discussing?"

After a long, intense stretch of time spent staring deeply into Methos' eyes, Parker rose, walked to the bed, sat and swung her legs up, pulling her knees to her chest.

"The jackass. I told him I don't have any solid memories before the age of seven or eight. He insisted I was wrong. He bet me he could find them, and like an idiot... I called his bluff. He tried to make me think it was just some kind of... visualization. I don't think I'll ever know exactly how, but at the end... he tricked me... turned it around on me. I was so confused I didn't know up from down, never mind fantasy from reality. I... I was seeing... I don't know what, really, but that... that ass almost had me believing it had some connection to me, to my past."

"You must have been furious."

"Livid. Only Jarod's ever been able to get me that angry. Not anymore, but once..."

"Why not?"

"I wasn't thrilled with the results of that level of negative emotion on my health."

"Uh-uh. Psychobabble. Say it how you really wanted to say it."

"I don't like what happens when I get that mad."

"Better. What is it that you don't like? What happens when you let your anger get that far beyond you?"

"Nothing. It's... it's really nothing. It hasn't happened in years."

"Until yesterday."

After a few tense, very quiet minutes, during which Methos could clearly see on her face the internal debate Parker was conducting with herself, she responded to his prompt.

"When I get that... wild, that enraged, I blank out. I just... go away somewhere, like slipping into a T.V. screen filled with snow. When... when it's..."

"When it's safe, you come back."

The look Methos received held no agreement or dissent; merely cool appraisal and mild curiosity.

"I still get angry. I've just learned to keep it under strict control. I haven't had a "white noise" episode in a long time."

"Until yesterday." Methos repeated softly, his genuine concern and empathy drawing her further into the step and tempo of the dance.

"I'm not so sure."

"Yesterday was different? How?"

"It used to be I'd remember the exact moment the static pulled me in. Yesterday... the where and how got lost."

"And that concerns you."

"It concerns me that it happened at all. Like I said, I had this under control. If he's started it up again, I will personally hang his pretty Scottish guts from the chandelier in the dining room, turn the rest into mulch and spread him on the lawn."

"Ugggh. He said you had a slasher movie imagination. Where'd you ever pick up that nasty thinking, anyway?"

"It comes with the territory of being able to protect myself at all costs."

"Well, can we make a pact?"

"Possible."

"You're as safe here as you can be. Noone can get to you, harm you or take anything from you. See if you can put away the twenty-four/seven/three-sixty-five defense system, okay? I'm not asking you to dismantle the thing, just shut it down for a while. Turn off the blood and gore dispenser and see how it feels to live without the bitterness and bile filling up your head all the time. You might find it the vacation you thought you were getting when you started this whole thing."

"That easy, hmmm? Just... shut it down." Parker laughed sarcastically.

"Not easy, no. It can be done."

"Fine. You do it, hypocrite."

"Hypocrite? Where'd that come from?"

"Do you really think I can't recognize one of my own kind? You've been fighting off the world for most of your life, just like I have, and you hate the world for it, just like I do. Show me your trusting nature, little man. Tell me what you are."

"Oh, no. Most of the world I trust, sweetheart. You're a different story. I give up my hole-card now, you go hot-footing back to daddy with it, and I, and maybe a lot of my friends, will end up running from that human misery factory you call a workplace for the rest of our lives. Sorry. Not yet. I don't fold as easy as all that. So do I show you how to release the security lock-outs or not?"

"Great. A Star Trek fan. Just what I really need."

"So must you be if you recognize the reference. Answer the question."

"Go ahead and try, but if you do to me what he did..."

"No tricks, I swear. You do have to close your eyes again, though."

"Yeah, yeah. Like I believe your promises any more than I'd believe his. Just remember that I can get close enough now to rip off your ears and stuff one down your throat and one up your..."

"I get the point. Close the eyes."

It took Parker several seconds to comply as her eyelids went to half-mast, then to slits that Methos swore were producing fiery sparks, all aimed in his direction. After a swallow or two to relieve the sudden dryness of his tongue and palate, Methos continued. "You're walking slowly down a dim hallway. A few feet in front of you, the door to a brightly lit room is opening. Focus on the doorway. As you get there, look up. There's a sign hung over the door. See if you can read it for me."

"No chance. It's too high. Wait. I think... Yeah. The same thing seems to be written on the glass panel in the door. It says Security Office: Head of Security... there's no name. Other than the first two lines, the panel is blank."

"Walk in. Tell me what you see."

"The place is wall to wall with computers and monitors. Not much light. It's hard to see anything."

"Take a good look around, find the most clearly marked button and tell me what it says."

"There are two. Armed and... secure? That makes no sense."

"That's okay. It doesn't have to. Push one."

"Which one, smart guy?"

"No matter. Whichever you feel will shut the system down. Your choice."

Stretching out her right hand, in her mind and in reality, Parker punched the switch marked secure, watched every light before her, except the room lights, go dark and had to fight a long moment of near panic. When she had resumed control, she spoke to Methos, realizing that he had given her no further instructions.

"Well? Hello? I pushed it. Systems non-functional. What now?"

After several seconds with no response, Parker opened her eyes to discover that her conversation-mate had slipped from the room during their final few exchanges, taking her used dishes with him and leaving her with nothing but a somber vision of mute, lifeless computers and video screens, and a rapidly increasing host of troubled thoughts flooding her heart and mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm this close. A little farther and she won't be able to back out. She's studying the hook. She just can't decide if it's in her best interests to bite."

"She knows the hook will drag her into a world she isn't ready for." Macleod responded quietly as he dried the last of the breakfast dishes and replaced them in their proper cabinets and drawers.

"Jarod's breakdown still getting to you too?"

"How could it not? I don't have the words for the way I feel, and that's not like me. It's strange. I don't like it."

"The words for abuse that pervasive haven't been invented. I'm not sure he isn't right. He may never get rid of it completely. Is he still upstairs?"

"Yeah. Whether he's sleeping or hiding is another story."

"If it were me, I'd be in my shell for the duration."

"Me too, but we aren't as strong as he is. Not by half."

"If wishes were horses..."

"and dropped from the sky, they'd be terribly messy, for horses can't fly." Jarod joked groggily as he shuffled slowly into the kitchen and dropped into a chair. "Sorry. It's a rhyme Parker taught me when we were children. She's about the only good memory out of the ones they left me."

Moving to the table, Methos laid a hand on Jarod's shoulder briefly, then reached the same hand out to tip up the chin of the younger man.

"I sense an apology on the tip of your tongue. Don't bother. You waited way too long for what happened, I think. Maybe now you'll believe you need as much help as she does. Help of a little different kind, but needed just as badly."

Gently pulling away from the touch of his friend, Jarod scrubbed his eyes quickly, sighed and gazed up at Methos.

"The words were right. In some small way, they worked. I'm just not... ready yet. Give it time. Let's finish this first. Parker is the priority now."

Walking away, Methos' face grew worried and slightly discouraged.

"I know. She's doing well. She's keeping to our schedule, even if she doesn't know it. After you down some of that swill Mac calls coffee, would you skim the tape of the session I just had with her? I could use an opinion on how close she really is to where she needs to be."

"Sure."

"Swill?! That happens to be the best the gourmet store had. It's top-grade Columbian." Macleod protested.

"Yeah, well I was hoping for decent coffee, not world-class cocaine. Columbian doesn't mean a thing, despite what all their commercials say. I could have got better tasting stuff out of the oil pan in my car."

"Columbian coffee is the best there is. You just have no taste."

"Ha! How many times do I have to tell you, you have to go to Chile for acceptable beans and drinkable coffee."

"Chile? You want chilly, I can stuff you in the freezer. Maybe it'll improve your disposition!"

Though he badly wanted to burst out laughing, Jarod rose and stepped between the two, not wanting an argument over coffee to come to blows immortal style.

"Guys. Okay, okay. Hold off. I'll make the coffee from now on. I know a few tricks."

"Ohhhh no. Not in my machine..."

"I could just put instant and a filter over a cup and pour hot water through it, but that wouldn't taste much better than yours." Jarod retorted calmly then paused to let the other two catch up.

Macleod glared at Methos for a few more seconds, then the insult hit and both gave in to laughter, joined by Jarod a minute later.

"Alright. You get a one day trial."

"That should be all I need. You did save me some breakfast, right?"

"Absolutely." Macleod answered, sliding a baking sheet out of the oven with Jarod's dish on it. "Four slices of French toast and a western omelet. Syrup and butter on the table. Milk and fresh squeezed juice in the fridge."

"Thanks." Jarod said, hissing as he accepted the hot plate and hurrying to set it down on the table. "How is she?"

"Surprisingly cooperative. I got a lot more info than I thought I might. She came out with some interesting stuff."

"Good. Is it okay if I eat in there? The sooner I watch the tape, the sooner I can give you feedback, and..."

"Of course. Go ahead."

His expression sliding into mild concern, Methos waited until Jarod had settled in the living room with the monitor headset on before he spoke again to Macleod.

"Should we let him get away with it?"

"What? The avoidance thing? They're his emotions. If he chooses not to make a huge deal of what happened, that's his prerogative."

"Yeah, but, eventually, it's gonna be a T-Rex sized deal. All the anger and resentment will sneak up and cut his knees out from under him one of these days."

"We just have to hope he trusts us enough to let us help him if it happens. It might not. He's got through so much..."

"Stonehenge has survived for thousands of years, but there are still people who say that if you push in the right spot or kick out the right pebble, the whole thing'll go down like dominoes in about a minute and a half."

"They say. Let him be for now. Last night was a step. He'll come to us when he's ready for the next, if he ever is." Macleod countered.

Sipping a cup of coffee, he turned from watching Jarod to staring out the window over the sink, considering whether to ask the younger man what he found out there at night that gave him peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So? Where is she?"

"Closer than I thought she would be in this short amount of time. She added unsolicited detail to the beginning sim you gave her. I didn't do that until eight months after I started."

"You were also a frightened child, and you knew what you were doing. She doesn't fall into either category. Maybe that's partly responsible for her slipping into the simulation so easily."

"She's also a natural Pretender. It could just be her inborn skill kicking in." Jarod proposed as he began to scrub his plate and silverware.

"True." Methos mused. "We're all still on the same page about tonight and tomorrow, right?"

"I never said that. I said I understand the necessity of it and I won't interfere."

"I wish you could see... I'm doing this to save her. At this point it's to save Mac and myself as well. She's sniffing around the truth of what we are, and she *will* track it down. That I guarantee. If we can't bring her around by then, the two of us, and maybe thousands of others, will be fighting your battle as well as our own."

His soulful eyes locked to Methos', Jarod swallowed hard, his expression suddenly desolate.

"The Centre can't be allowed to capture an adult immortal. I've seen sections of that place... soul-killing doesn't come close. It doesn't even begin to cover it."

"Okay then. This is our one chance to pull it off. We have to follow the plan exactly as we've laid it out. Missing a meal tonight and two tomorrow won't really hurt her, but it will get her hunger raging, which is essential for the immersion treatment."

Jarod's quicksilver, ever-changeable expression now clearly said that part of him was as uncomfortable with the immersion as with the rest of the plan, but he kept silent about his concerns and marginally changed the subject.

"When can I see her?"

"Just before the treatment. All we'll be doing right up to then is interrogating her, trying to pull every bit of information out of her we can so she'll keep moving in the direction we want her to go. She'll be desperate for a friend. That's you."

"Miss Parker and I may be a lot of things, but friends isn't one of them."

"By the time day after tomorrow rolls around, she won't see it that way."

A smile suddenly flowing onto Jarod's face, he turned to face Methos.

"If I can give you a reasonable compromise that will keep the immersion on track, will you consider it?"

"Of course."

"Good. Let's all go hit the gym for a workout and we'll talk about it."

General agreement came from the other two and all headed to separate bedrooms to change and grab towels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EARLY AFTERNOON- BLUE COVE:

"Look. Don't push, Syd, okay? It won't make me have an appetite, so give it up."

"You'll never sleep if you don't try and eat something."

"Don't have an appetite for that either. You eat. You go hit the sheets. I'm gonna watch T.V. for a while." Broots replied, his voice flat and devoid of inflection or emotion as he rose from the kitchen table and moved slowly into the living room, Sydney following right behind.

"What's going on? Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. I'm just not hungry or tired."

Dropping beside his friend on the couch, Sydney tugged the television remote from his hand and turned Broots to face him instead of the entertainment center.

"You're not being honest with me. We spent last night within ten feet of each other. I know how little you slept and I watched you not eat dinner or breakfast this morning. Talk to me. Tell me what's happening. We can work it out together."

Rising, Broots began to pace in and out among the furniture, tracing weird patterns as he walked.

"Forget it. Just leave it alone, alright? You already said you can't take this... thing in my head away, so... forget it. Go get some rest."

"You believe it's my fault, don't you?"

"Your... No! I know it isn't. I'm mad at them. I want this to go away. Why can't it just evaporate the same way it showed up?" Broots snapped, finally returning to his seat on the sofa.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, at least not this time. Whatever this ability is, or might become, it was induced by a chemical that lay dormant in your body for five years, and yet was still strong enough to activate when it came in contact with the contents of the injection. I'd wager this is something that will be with you for the rest of your life."

"If I had the guts, the rest of my life wouldn't be all that long..." Broots moaned, his voice breaking as he leapt from the couch again. Ignoring his own physical pain, Sydney rose, reaching his friend within a step or two, and spinning Broots around.

"Do you even understand what you're contemplating? Could you actually do that to your own daughter?"

"You don't get it! I can't take this! I don't want it to happen again. I'm terrified to go to sleep. If I do doze a little, it's getting so I don't trust what I see when I open my eyes."

"Come. Come sit down with me."

Seated once again, Sydney gazed into Broots' face and struggled not to turn away, the plea for release he found in his friend's eyes nearly more than the older man could bear.

"If there was something... anything I could do, you know I would. The only option left is damage control. I can show how to begin to harness the visions, how to interpret them. Will you let me try? The sooner we start, the better."

Slowly, his face seeming to collapse in on itself as reality sunk in, Broots leaned forward, near tears and trying desperately to hold them off. Hanging his head, he began to run his hands through his hair and over the back of his neck restlessly as he tried to wrap his mind around the ninety degree turn his life had taken without asking his permission.

"How can I even start to figure anything out when I'm still hung up on why? That's what I really don't get. I've always done my job the best I knew how. I've always been loyal... up until the past year or two, but there's no way they could know about the... the things you and I and Miss Parker... Any time I breached security it was justified... in my mind anyway. Why would they do this to me?"

"Remember, too, that you were given the drug before Jarod's escape even happened. I wish I had an answer for you. Perhaps they reasoned that a Centre employee was easier to put their hands on if something went wrong... or right. Their... loyalty would also make them less likely to resist whatever the research or med teams wanted to do to them."

"I guess we kind of messed up their plan, huh?"

"Yes. I think we may have. Now that Lyle is taken care of, my priority is protecting you. If anyone at the Centre were to discover that you've developed this ability, I don't even want to consider the lengths they'd go to in order to secure you away from the outside world."

Lifting his head finally, Broots met Sydney's gaze, one or two of the tears he'd been trying to suppress now rolling down his cheeks.

"Locked away from Debbie and you and...I'm never going back. You know that, don't you?"

"You must. If you don't, they will absolutely know something's wrong. Raines already suspects..."

"I can't. Not now, not knowing what they really did to me. It would show every time I looked anybody in the eyes. I won't go back in that infirmary, Syd. Before I let them at me again I really will do it. I'll die before...

"You won't have to go back. I swear it. I'll think of some way to protect you..."

At a signal from the security system, Sydney momentarily gave up on trying to calm Broots and moved to the intercom, though he vowed that the break in their discussion would be as short as he could make it.

"Yes?"

"Abe? It's Terri."

"I'm sorry, Terri. This isn't a good time. We're both fine. It might be better if..."

"Look. Let me in. Please? I... I don't feel real safe out here just now."

Confused, Sydney hesitated, then released the lock on the back door and let her in.

When she burst through the kitchen door and nearly flew to his side, her expression turned his concern over her uncharacteristic behavior into genuine fear for her well being.

"What is it? You look so pani... My God. Who did this to you?" he exclaimed quietly, at last noticing the prominent redness and swelling on her neck and the backs of her hands.

"I don't know, but when I find them, I swear they won't be conscious long enough to even think of doing it again."

Leading her to the couch, Sydney turned to ask Broots to retrieve the first-aid kit only to discover his friend had slipped from the room.

"Please stay right there. I'll only be a moment."

After a few frantic moments, Sydney found Broots in the bedroom and dragged him back to where Terri waited. "I need you in my sight for the time being. I won't let you be alone right now." Sydney reassured him, leaving again and returning a few seconds later with the emergency kit. "Tell me what happened, Terri."

"When I was opening up my office this morning, I got grabbed from behind. Before I could do anything, someone stuck a live wire to the back of my neck and my knees turned into marshmallow fluff."

Lifting up the simple braid into which she'd plaited her hair that morning, Sydney discovered two small, well-separated, red areas at the base of Terri's neck.

"Stun-gun. Go on." he encouraged, beginning to treat her burns.

"I was only fuzzy for a minute, but I guess it was enough for these three Nazis to drag me to their limo and throw me in. They kept asking me how I knew you. I didn't say anything. I think I was still knocked half loopy from the attack. When the driver p-pulled the... the cigarette lighter... all I could think was... great, two goons are practically sitting on me, and now he's gonna stink up the car... but it... it wasn't a lighter... it put out so much heat... all they had to do was get it close to my face and I started screaming..."

Anguished and ashamed at having been the cause of yet another person's pain, Sydney pulled Terri's head to his shoulder, trying to dry her tears and comfort her, but she would have none of it and resisted his attempt at consolation. "No. I can wipe my own face, Abe. What I want from you is answers, and I want them now. What have you dragged me into?"

"Terri. I can't, in good conscience..."

"Uh-uh. I can't let it slide this time, Abe. They came after me. I'm a part of this now. I need to know."

"Your life is worth more to me than an explanation that would only cause you further pain and upset..."

"Forget it. I trust you, Abe, but I've waited a long time already. Now I'm caught in the middle of something I don't understand, and that scares me. It's my life to defend, and I don't need your good conscience. I need to know what I'm facing so I can fight back."

Staring into Terri's eyes, part of Sydney's heart sank as he realized her determination not to surrender to the Centre's intimidation, even at the cost of being hurt far worse than she already had been.

"I'll make you a version of the promise I made Broots. You'll hear all I can tell you and be sure that you'll stay safe. I just can't do it right now. There's so much still to do before Broots and I are safe and free... for a while at least..."

Fatigue glazing his eyes and forcing them closed for a few brief moments, Sydney sighed heavily, then pushed most of his weariness aside, gathered his thoughts and re-focused on Terri.

Her own pain and fear subsiding, Terri finally saw how drawn and pale Sydney looked and how hard he was working to hold himself together. Kicking herself for allowing a minor incident, one that had never genuinely threatened her life, to blind her to a friend's suffering, her expression softened.

"What do you need help with?"

"Help?"

"Yeah. Help. Your fight, my fight. I'm assuming you could use another lieutenant for the duration of the war. Am I wrong?"

"No. No, you aren't wrong."

"Okay. I'm here as long as you need me, then. Answers will keep. You go get some rest. Petey and I will be fine out here."

"But..."

"Get gone, Abe. You're wrung out and that shoulder won't heal if you don't sleep. Petey will tell me what he wants to and we'll go from there."

For several more confused and doubtful moments, Sydney remained where he was, seated between his friends, gazing back and forth from Broots, who had crumpled himself as deeply as he could into a corner of the sofa, to Terri who stared fixedly at Broots, suddenly seeming to see Sydney as nothing more than an obstruction. When his companion voice spoke up briefly, he finally rose and walked back to the bedroom, still uncertain what was about to happen, but a little less worried that it would be disastrous if he weren't there.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You understand your orders?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you're prepared to carry them out?"

"I am, sir."

"Excellent. Go. If you fail me, I wouldn't advise returning... or letting me find you."

"Clearly understood, sir."

His mouth abruptly lurching into what passed for a smile on his horror of a face, Raines watched his hand-picked military underling make an exquisitely precise turn and stride from the room, then twisted in his seat and spoke to the deeply unhappy man behind him.

"He's the best. He'll fulfill his orders... whatever it takes."

"It won't work. Best or worst, noone will find either of them now. Not even him."

"Are you implying I don't know my own protégé?"

"No." Parker stated firmly, rising from his chair, "I believe I'm implying that my children won't be returning to the Centre. Therefore, plans need to be made, contingencies executed... yes. Things need to get done."

"Mister Parker..."

"Your man will fail, Raines. There's nothing he can do that I and a hundred other men couldn't. Thank you, though for the effort."

Without even a glance behind him, Mister Parker strode away from Raines and out of the room. The confusion and lethargy that he'd shaken off after injuring his hands reclaimed him suddenly in the corridor, but for a moment only. Recovering himself, he walked on, his mildly disturbed expression the only sign that anything had occurred at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


SEACOUVER:

"Hello. Lunch is served. Oh. There you are."

Looking up from the spot in the center of the floor where she sat meditating in lotus position, Parker gave her inquisitor a cursory glance then returned to her contemplations. "Let me guess. You weren't exactly thrilled with the results of this morning's exercise. It's okay. I didn't expect you to be jumping for joy. You want lunch now or not?" he repeated, waving a covered container of dark brown liquid in her direction.

Gazing at him once again, Parker rose with a litheness that Methos envied, circled him once slowly, as if he might have hidden the meal he'd promised, made a thoroughly inappropriate comment about the cup he held and walked away to drop into one of the chairs at the large table.

"Ugh, and may I also add, blech! If you don't want the shake, say so, but that really was above and beyond the call of insults. I may never be able to look at a cappuccino again."

"Get out."

"Can I assume you don't want lunch, then?"

"Lunch! That? I think I already expressed my opinion."

"Yes, this is lunch; and dinner and breakfast for that matter. You're on a cleansing fast as of this moment. For the next forty-eight hours you get no solid food, no dairy, no sugar and no salt. Pure water, fruit juices and soy only. Oh, and the vitamins. Here." he said, tossing her a small bottle, which she caught with one hand and launched back at his head. He pulled it from the air as deftly as she had, walked to her side and held it out until she surrendered and took it from his hand.

Dropping into the chair beside her, he began to speak, knowing the caring and compassion behind the words would find their way in no matter how hard she tried to block them.

"I know you understand what the liquor and the cigs are doing to you. Understanding's easy. Now you have to start caring. If you don't let all this... stuff go, you'll never heal emotionally, and that will keep you from healing physically. Right now, I know you don't give a tinker's damn about your mind or your body, but I guarantee the time will come when you do. When will you start believing you deserve to feel decent; to be strong and healthy and whole?"

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't take the pills at all..."

"You take it out of habit and because you know how bad you'll hurt if you don't. Do you really think noone's noticed what you've started taking them with by the way? Whiskey and a 'scrip? Lethal habits you're developing, love."

"I did it once..."

"That could have been plenty. You keep on this way and pretty soon whatever you're taking won't be strong enough to kill all the pain. You'll convince the doc to give you something bigger; something to really put out the fire. You'll chase it with a double shot one day, not even thinking... and it'll put you out instead. Do you really want to be an eggplant; lying in a bed with just enough gray matter left to understand everything going on around you, but not enough to speak or even open your eyes?"

Parker suddenly rose and began to wander aimlessly, as if unaware that Methos was even still in the room, finally ending up by the rear wall. Bracing against it, she slid down into a crouch, eyes on the floor, hands rubbing together absently.

"You have to take me back in there. I tried and I can't do it alone."

"Back where?" Methos demurred, stalling for time, even though he knew exactly what subject they had abruptly jumped to.

"Back into that room. I want it back on."

"The security system?"

"No. The neon "I'm an imbecile" sign on your forehead. What do you think?"

"I think I want to know what you did at the Centre before Jarod escaped. You weren't always a bounty hunter, right?"

"You did hear what I said... right?" Parker spat back at Methos.

"I heard. You know I can't do that. Now, come sit down and let's discuss your duties before finding Jarod and drinking yourself into oblivion became your life's ambitions."

Rising to her full height, Parker advanced a step back toward Methos.

"You can. You showed me how to turn it off, you can reverse the process."

"I can't, and I wouldn't even if I could. Come have your shake, love, before it gets warm. Soy shakes are really disgusting warm..."

"You hear about as well as your partner. Do it now or I'll..."

Finally deciding the situation called for something a little more drastic, Methos rose and advanced across the room until he and Parker were close enough to be dancing. He waited for her to get uncomfortable enough to back off, then repeated the move, backing her into the wall again, hands propped on the masonry on either side of her head.

"What? What will you do? I didn't shut the system down, sweetie. You did. If you can't go back and change it, then you aren't supposed to. That's why your mind's road-blocking you every time you try. You keep showing me all this anger, but you don't even believe it yourself! You put it out there for the world to see and genuflect to, but it isn't even half real, and you know it.
It's a stone wall you use to hide the fear and the desperation and the ripped up heart of a little girl who watched her world vanish in one second of brutal, callous violence and who hasn't even begun to figure out how to find it again. You've taken all your pain and disappointment and genuine rage and shoved them behind that wall for over twenty years, and now you're seeing it being pulled apart, brick by brick, faster than you can fit them back in.
The famous Parker self-control is deserting you isn't it? Suddenly you have to try... really put forth an effort to maintain that mask of disdain and who gives a flying fart in a high wind what anyone else thinks. Gets pretty tiring holding a mask in place, doesn't it? The biceps and the forearms start to twitch... then they start to tremble with the strain. Eventually you have to put it down whether you want to or not."

Dropping his hands, Methos stepped back a bit, finished his spur-of-the-moment truth tirade then walked away. "Twenty-odd years is one hell of a feat of endurance, love, but I'd say you've about run dry. That wall's coming down and your facade with it. I just pray to God you don't get crushed under one or the other... or both."

Once back in his usual chair on the far side of the long table, Methos jotted in a notebook he'd brought with him to the session and pointedly ignored Parker, who hadn't stirred from where he'd left her except to watch his progress back to his seat.

Her face frozen in an expression of disbelief and bewilderment, she simply stood on the wall, waiting for the anger to rise in her to a point where she could beat her tormentor to death or tear him apart and not feel or remember it, as she'd done once or twice before.

Though the stories had swirled around her for days after both incidents, she'd blocked them out as efficiently and ruthlessly as she'd blocked the memory of whom she'd killed and why.

When the emotion she wanted wouldn't surface at her command she tried to force it into being, pulling all her most potent rage triggers one after the other; the gullibility with which she'd fallen into Jarod's most humiliating traps, his ability to elude her no matter how close she thought she'd gotten, her father's emotionless reactions despite how much of herself she always put on the line to try and please or satisfy him.

Even her last resort, recalling visions of her mother's death, failed to act as the release Parker needed, sending her into a crying, screaming fit of frustration, pounding the wall hard enough to have created several holes had it been made of anything less than concrete, and scratching her own face and hands when she couldn't damage the wall.

When her cries alerted him to the situation, Methos ran up behind her, grabbing and securing her hands, then embraced her, crossing her arms around herself and effectively thwarting her self-destruction campaign. Holding her this way, he bent his knees and lowered himself to the floor despite how hard she continued to fight the loss of her freedom of movement. Speaking just loud enough to be heard over Parker's non-verbal expressions of terminal frustration, Methos began to try to soothe her out of the fugue state and back to reality.

"You're alright. You're alright, girl. Mother of mercy, you're strong... Stop it, love. Hurt me if you need to, but I won't let you hurt yourself. Not... an... option."

As Parker's struggle intensified, Methos began rocking her back and forth as best he could, still hoping to calm her and bring her back down with reason and quiet words. "Shhh. C'mon sweet. This can't be doing that lake of eternal fire in your belly any good. You have to listen to me."

Minutes later, instead of the slow surrender and relaxation he'd been hoping for, Parker went abruptly limp in his arms.

"Oh, no. Not what's supposed to happen, dear. Let's see..."

Turning Parker around to face him, Methos panicked at first, as her eyes were shut tight and her breathing frighteningly shallow. What he found when she opened her eyes was, all at once, the exact thing he'd been privately hoping for and, potentially, everything they all feared most. The gaze that met his was so filled with confusion, loss and heart-rending sorrow that he fought the urge to look away. Gently restoring her disheveled hair to some semblance of order, he smiled at her grimly.

{Damn. I wondered whether I could trigger a regression. I guess I can. God, I'm sorry love. I didn't mean... I wasn't trying for this. I just wanted you to face a few truths... At least I know now that the immersion has a chance of working. Well. I suppose I'd better see if I can get you out of this as well as I was able to put you in it.}

"Hello, sweetheart. Can you tell me your name?"

A shake of the head and sudden fear in her eyes was the only response he received. "No, hmm. Shall I guess? Let's see. You look like a... Molly."

When Parker began to slowly relax and ceased pulling away from him, Methos drew a deep shuddery breath of relief, let it go again, and continued. "Can you speak to me at all, hmmm?"

When it became obvious she couldn't, or wouldn't, speak, Methos reassured her once again of her safety, then rose, lifting her in his arms, amazed at how little she actually weighed compared to the suit of armor over a dozen bullet proof vests image she projected. Halfway to the bed where he intended to set her down, she realized his intended goal. Eyes widening, she began to fight him, flailing, kicking and whimpering in abject fear. Her struggle lasted only a few moments before she was unconscious in his grip a second time, her face rapidly paling. Placing her gently on the cot, Methos pulled a small handy-talkie from his pocket and activated the page feature, hoping one of the other two had theirs on.

"I'm here. What is it?"

"Jarod. I need the black leather bag under the sink in my room, a bowl of cool water and a cloth. Cool, not cold mind you. In the cell and make it a rush job alright?"

"What happened?"

"When you get here. Just do what I asked, son."

Several minutes later, Jarod appeared at the door. Methos took the satchel and bowl from him and turned back to tend to Parker.

"You're welcome in as long as you keep your voice down and vanish as soon as she shows signs of coming to. The plan calls for you two to get together, just not yet."

"What have you done?" Jarod asked, the implicit threat in his tone telling Methos just what would meet anything less than the truth.

"She fainted, but she seems to be fine. I just need to make absolutely sure."

When Parker began to stir a moment later, Methos began to try to encourage Jarod out of the room, but the younger man would not be moved. "Look. I told you the truth. Go. I'll take care of her, I swear it."

Jarod stood gazing into his eyes for so long that Methos was sure he'd intended to stay no matter what, but he eventually turned and walked back down the hall.

On his knees at Parker's side, Methos snapped open the satchel, removed a blood-pressure cuff and wrapped it around her right arm.

"Just be still for a minute, love. You're okay." he soothed, wringing out the wet cloth then laying it across her forehead. "I'm just going to check you out, alright? Take it easy."

When her blood pressure marginally met his approval, he removed the cuff, stored it again and slid the bag under the long table.

"What happened? How did I get here?"

"Shhh. Rest, now. You passed out."

"And, what, I levitated to the cot?"

"Stop. No more questions. No more fighting. You're to stay in bed for the rest of today and you're to stay quiet."

"Fighting... Hell with you. I demand to know..."

Grasping her chin firmly, he brought her gaze to his.

"Look at me. Look right in my eyes. With a B.P. of 100 over 65, you're in no shape to demand anything. You know better than anyone how close that puts you to having a needle in your arm and a plastic bag hanging over your head for the next two or three hours. A couple points lower on either number and that's exactly what you would have woken up to. Are we clear?"

He waited for her slow nod before releasing her chin and rising to his feet. Moving to where her handbag sat, he pulled her medicine from the outer pocket, selecting one out of the four or five small bottles. Stepping to the table to grab the shake he returned to her side with both items.

"Here." he said, handing her the pills while he pried the top off the drink container. Once she'd extracted a dose, he traded her for the drink, brushing off the look of utter disgust he received.

"It's soy. And chocolate."

"It's that or water. Trust me. This is better."

Once she'd downed the pills, she paused, glanced from him to the drink, then drained the glass and laid back. He replaced the cool, damp cloth on her head. She pulled it off again. He relented.

"I repeat. You're to stay in bed and you're to try and stay as calm and quiet as possible. If you need your meds, I'll be checking in every couple hours to be sure you're alright."

Moving back to a seat at the table, he slid a book out of his back pocket and began to read.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Sitting here till you fall asleep. What does it look like?"

Bewildered by his answer, Parker found herself unable to think of a response, until her eye fell on the empty glass on her night table. Grinning, she hefted one of her pillows then hurled it with deadly accuracy into Methos' face.

"Yes?"

"Strawberry next time."

Laying his book face down, he walked to her side, fluffed the pillow and slipped it under her head.

"Glad to oblige."

As he took up his reading again, he stole a brief glance at Parker and was pleased to note she had retrieved the cloth, tossed it over her eyes and was breathing slowly and regularly, though he was certain she wasn't yet asleep. He rose and left only when she was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Striding into the living room, Methos searched quickly for Jarod but didn't see him in the immediate area.

"He's not here or in the kitchen either. He's in his room listening to the stereo." Macleod informed him. "I wouldn't expect to see him tonight and maybe not tomorrow. He's not talking to either of us. According to him you're pushing her too hard and I'm just standing back and letting you do it."

"Noone understands genius in its time. Maybe the music will calm him down."

Macleod smirked.

"You didn't see what he pulled out of his travel gear for CD's."

"Do I dare ask?"

"No. The covers I caught sight of were Korn, Metallica and.... what's that other hardcore mess.... Soggy Bagel?"

"Limp Bizkit. Dear God. He wants to smash us both."

"He's just blowing off steam. He'll cool down."

"We devoutly pray. He's so strong, Mac. He could do us a serious bit of mischief."

"He won't. He knows you're doing your best in a near impossible situation."

"Did you watch the session?"

"Beginning to end. So did he. That's why...."

"I thought as much."

"She regressed again."

"Only for a minute."

"Minute's too long. What was all that when you went to lay her down on the bed?"

"I don't want to know. Not yet anyway. One deep emotional scar at a time, alright? There wouldn't be the makings of a sandwich left in the fridge, would there?" Methos inquired, heading for the kitchen to check.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLUE COVE:

"Terri?"

"Shhh. He just fell asleep."

Rising gingerly from the sofa, Terri walked to meet Sydney as he emerged from the hallway and guided him into the kitchen.

"What did he tell you?"

"Enough. He said he's been having some first class nightmares. We talked about the worst ones, pulled 'em into daylight, you know? He felt a little better. What he needs are dream control techniques. Unfortunately I didn't have any to give him. Not my area."

"That crossed my mind. It wouldn't work. Dream control works on the sub-conscious level. Broots'.... nightmares aren't derived there. "

"You're talking about hallucinations then?"

"Not exactly. As long as he's doing better, I'm satisfied. For now, let it go. Did he eat?"

"Oh, yeah. Soup, crackers and half a sandwich."

"Good. Very good."

"You're looking better for whatever sleep you got."

"I'm in less pain, now. Is your neck better?"

"My neck will heal. Do you ever think about yourself for more than two seconds at a stretch, Abe?"

"I try not to. Selfishness is a trait I can't afford to reacquire. I.... hurt too many people when I was young."

"Young or old, you'd never intentionally hurt anyone. I think I know you well enough to know that." Terri commented as she brought toast and a bowl of soup to the table.

"You didn't know me then. You wouldn't have liked me very much, I'm afraid. I thought science was everything. It was my religion. I didn't realize it was Satan's throne I was worshiping at. All those wasted years.... I willingly put my soul into his hands. I only pray I can retrieve it."

"Okay. Enough of that. Stop knocking yourself long enough to eat, will you? Whatever happens you'll need to be at full strength to deal with it and right now your mixture's so lean you can't see straight."

"I'll be alright once this business is finished. A few more days...."

"It better not be that long. As it is you're looking at weeks of physical therapy to rehab that shoulder."

"If I have to endure it, I will. There are other much more pressing concerns right now and until those are resolved...."

"Hey. Don't you listen? You've got someone to help shoulder some of that weight now. I'm here for you and Petey until this.... whatever it is, is over and done."

"You do understand I'll never be able to tell you everything."

"Yeah. You should tell somebody though. It screws up your system to keep things inside all the time."

"I talk to Jacob."

"I mean someone who can respond, give you feedback."

"I know what you meant. I can't do that to my friends. I won't put them at risk." Sydney replied with finality. "No more, alright? No more questions. I need to focus on what I'm doing or none of us on either side will survive the next few days."

Looking up from his food, Sydney could clearly see Terri wanting to ask what he meant by "either side" but choosing to honor his request.

"What can I do to help?"

"Stay with Broots while I go and get some things done."

"You're going back to work? Bad idea, Abe. Really bad idea. The way Petey described the place it sounded more like a Russian gulag than a research facility. Can't you do what needs doing without going back there?"

"What did Broots tell you?"

"Only that he's hated the place for years and he wants nothing more to do with it He didn't have to tell me he's terrified. I could see it in his eyes, his movements. Whether it's the work or something else.... I don't know. He wouldn't go that far."

"We both have legitimate reasons for being frightened, Terri. Reasons you can't know and shouldn't have to. I'll let you help, but only to a certain point. I won't drag you any further in than you already are."

Pulling down one edge of the bandage on her neck, Terri stared Sydney in the eyes, her mouth set in a thin line of determination.

"I'd say that decision's been taken out of your hands, wouldn't you?"

Sydney started a response, but closed his mouth on it, knowing all he had to offer Terri were more evasions and carefully worded phrases meant to stall her one more time. Reaching out, he gently replaced the bandage, pausing for the briefest of moments to brush her cheek as he retreated.

"Is there anymore soup?"

Knowing all she could do for him was what he'd asked of her earlier, Terri gazed at him sadly then relented.

"Only a ton and a half. You'll be eating it for the next year or so if I freeze some."

"I'll be glad to. It's really very good."

"Well, thank you, kind sir. I may not be Cordon Bleu, but there are one or two things that I do pretty well."

"Being a good friend seems to be your real talent. How did you get Broots to talk? He's usually more.... circumspect with strangers, especially lately."

"I don't know exactly. We just seemed to trust each other right off the bat. I like him, Abe. He's funny, really smart and he's so sweet."

"Yes. He is all that."

"I wish I could have done more than just feed him and offer up my ear and my shoulder. "

"Emotional support is worth more to both of us right now than you could ever guess, Terri. We're terribly grateful." Sydney told her as she set his second serving in front of him and reclaimed her chair.

"Abe...."

"No. Please, right now just accept what I can tell you, alright? It.... it's all I can do."

After showing her the best smile he could manage, Sydney returned his gaze to his meal.

When he'd finished, though she tried again to get him to stay, he slipped into his coat and left for the Centre, hoping against what he knew were very long odds that he'd get out again without being caught.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sydney. Quite a surprise to see you. You're looking much better."

"Approaching it, sir." Sydney responded, desperate to be anywhere but in Mister Parker's presence.

"Back to work are we?"

"Only for a short while, sir. I should be back on full duty tomorrow."

"And Broots? How is he?"

"Not well sir. His injury may take another week or ten days before he's even able to be up and around. Dr. Raines mentioned the damage to your hands, sir. How is it?"

"Flesh heals." he intoned, moving away a step or two before speaking again. "Oh, Sydney."

"Yes. sir."

"If I find out you had even the smallest part in the disappearance of either of my children, I'll carve a piece off your body for every day you've made me wait for the truth."

Watching the other man walk away, a large, very frightened, part of Sydney understood that the threat was by no means idle, while his companion voice kept insisting that Broots had to be protected at all costs.

Moving into his office, he closed and locked the door before taking a seat at Broots' computer terminal. Pulling a folded piece of magician's flash paper from his pocket, he reviewed one of many copies of instructions his friend had given him months earlier and began to rapidly enter several long alpha-numeric sequences into the system. When the screen he was waiting for appeared, he brought up the Centre e-mail program and initiated the process that would get him through to the contact who sent his messages to Jarod.

As he typed, he prayed silently for the safety of all those he cared for, adding a post-script about the Centre never finding out how many of their security measures Broots intimately knew how to subvert, shut down or tunnel under. Finishing, he backed carefully out, leaving no trace of what he'd done, grabbed the flash paper lying by the corner of the keyboard and moved to his desk. Pulling a small glass from a drawer, he dropped the paper in and added a match. When the glass was clean he replaced it and the matches, slipped two more small items into his pocket and headed out for a distant part of the building to complete his final tasks of the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey. Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to eat."

Producing a jaw-breaking yawn, Broots gingerly pushed to a sitting position and accepted the two pills Terri handed him. "Buffered aspirin. Abe said you might be needing them about now. Here." she said, offering a glass of ginger ale and placing a laden plate on the coffee table. "Dinner is grilled chicken and angelhair pasta. It's only a frozen dinner from the nuke-box, but I want to see every bit of it gone. You're skinnier than an anorexic toothpick. Eat, eat!"

Throwing Terri a crisp salute and a smile, he found his silverware and dug in.

"I'll tell you something. As much as I love havin' everybody cook for me and all, I can't wait to get home and do for myself again."

"As long as you screen your calls, you should be fine." Terri chuckled, sipping from a tall flute of chilled white wine.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, won't work be calling wondering where you are?"

Thinking her comment totally innocuous, Terri was confused when her words produced a look of utter panic and nausea on Broots' face, which quickly transmuted to anger.

"They can't keep me out of my house! What gives them the right to.... it's not theirs! It's Debbie's and mine! "

"Huh? What's wrong? What did I say?"

"No, wait, wait. You're right. If I screen my messages and forward my mail and paper deliveries.... no. That's not enough. I can't cut off heat and lights and what'll we do for money? There's the savings account, but that won't last us three months....."

Raising her voice, Terri broke into his train of thought and finally got his attention.

"Hey! Over here! What are you saying? You're acting like a bunch of goons in black hoods and turtlenecks are going to come after you if you play hooky."

"Black suits. No hoods. Well, for me maybe...."

"What?! What is this research facility anyway; CIA? NSA?"

"I can't tell you. They'd hurt you too, and I can't let that happen...."

Furious, Terri jumped from the sofa, stalked a few steps away and then whirled back.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God! I am not two years old! What could possibly be so ghastly that you and Abe both think I won't be able to handle it? Hmm? If this place is that bad then you're gonna have to tell someone, sometime. It might as well be me, and it might as well be now."

"You don't get it. I hope you never...."

Broots words faded out mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back as he passed out, dropping bonelessly onto his right side.

"Petey? Hey! Talk to me, Petey!"

It took several minutes for Terri to restore Broots to consciousness. He sat up quickly, though he was still groggy.

"Ginger ale. Quick, please."

Passing him the drink, Terri examined him critically, assuring herself she didn't need to call for immediate medical assistance.

"Are you okay, now?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. I guess."

"What just happened?"

"Nothing. I'm good."

"Fainting is not nothing. Don't try and play me here, Petey."

"I'm not. It was .... you wouldn't understand."

"Here we go again."

"No. I mean I can't explain it. I didn't really tell you the truth about my nightmares. If I did.... Look. Just go reheat the food for me, would you? I'm totally starving." Broots asked, smoothly swinging into a new subject as a way of announcing he would no longer discuss his visions or his fainting spell.

Terri complied with the request, vowing she'd have the truth one way or the other.

When the food had warmed, she brought it back to him and watched to be sure he ate every ounce, trying, in vain, to draw him back to the topic she was interested in.

"All the things Abe could have taught you, and he shows you his one sentence "I'm not talking about that" routine. Terrific."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Standing just inside the doors of the Centre infirmary, Sydney waited impatiently for the attendant he'd spoken with to return, battling his instinctive urge to search out the location of any camera emplacements in the room. Although tension pulsed through his temples with every heartbeat and tightened every muscle, he understood that looking as strained as he felt was the sure path to being caught, so he kept his eyes down and put on the best charade of calm he could.

"The MRI is ready now, doctor. If you'll follow me?"

"It's alright. I know where it is. I can get there and back."

"But if that arm is as bad as you say it is, you'll need help."

"I'm sure the operator can give me any assistance I need. Your concern is appreciated."

"Sure. No problem. Doc, wait. That's your writing hand?"

"Yes, actually."

"I'll sign you in and out then."

With a nod of thanks, Sydney strolled off toward the scanning rooms at the rear of the immense maze of chambers and corridors collectively called an infirmary, though this one was the size of the ground floors of many hospitals. Though he hated lying to the attendant, who would face severe repercussions if Sydney's ploy were uncovered, he'd been unable to think of any other way to get the information he needed; information that might save his best friend.

Reaching a T-junction, he scanned the hallways with eyes and ears to be sure he was completely alone, then turned left instead of right, heading for a room, which, to his everlasting regret, he knew well. Getting Broots to describe the room in which he'd been held for those three awful days had been torture for both men, but Sydney had pushed him, knowing how important it was to know the location exactly.

The room was one he'd sworn he never wanted to see again after the last scene he'd watched played out there. In general, it was used only for constraining and experimenting on convicted death row inmates, whom society no longer cared about and would not miss when the Centre's work resulted in their inevitable extinction. The memory of his fatigue-induced, and mildly rude, comment to Raines, and what he'd been made to witness by way of punishment, was still vivid and bright in his mind, as he feared it would always be.

As he approached the room, he slipped a small steel-gray canister from his pocket, one of a supply he'd requisitioned when Jarod had first escaped. His hope had been to use the contents to render his protégé unconscious before he could run or Parker and the sweepers could harm him. For once, the bureaucracy of all large corporations, the Centre included, had worked in Sydney's favor. If anyone who'd ever known he'd received the grenades was still around, they'd long forgotten and he'd seen to it the relevant paperwork was deeply buried.

Cradling the canister in his good left hand, he pressed the call button with the fingers of the injured right, listening carefully for movement within.

When he heard someone approaching from the other side, he rested a thumb on the release catch and slipped his right arm from its sling. The moment the door opened enough for his purposes, he tossed the grenade and pulled the door closed again. Ignoring the pain, he stripped his jacket off and stuffed it at the bottom of the door to avoid any of the gas escaping and scattering his faculties when he needed them most. He waited the full five minutes it took for the grenade to empty, plus a little more, before pulling a flexible vapor barrier mask from his pocket, placing it over his nose and mouth and entering.

Moving straight to the computer terminal in the center of the room he sat and punched in Raines' personal enquiry code (a piece of information which, if Raines even suspected he possessed it, would cost Sydney weeks of excruciating pain before he was allowed to die) and began to work backwards, searching for the records covering the period just after Broots' accident.

When he found what he sought, the words on the screen froze his heart and stopped his breath for several seconds. Clicking on the print icon, he watched pages begin to emerge from the printer at a torturous pace while he silently urged them to appear faster, knowing now that Broots' life was in far greater danger than his sanity.

Rejoicing when the pages stopped, he gathered them, backed out of the system and left the room, headed to the MRI room to actually get the scan and assess the damage to his shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Syd! You don't know how good it is to see you."

"You too. Sit down. We have to talk."

"You better believe it! Wait 'till you hear...." Broots warned him as they headed for the kitchen.

"Later." Sydney replied wearily, dropping into a chair. "I found what we were looking for."

"You don't look like it's good news."

"No. I'm afraid it's all bad. The drug they gave you at the hospital is called Psychonodril-10. It's an extremely powerful psychotropic chemical cocktail. It was being developed for the Pretender project. Raines believed that if he could supplement their natural gifts with paranormal talents they would be even more valuable tools for the Triumvirate. The researchers discovered the fatal flaw just in time. None of the children had yet been given the drug."

"Fatal? As in dead? As in no longer with us?"

"No, no. That's just a scientific term. It indicates a problem with a theory or hypothesis that makes it useless. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay. So what was the fat.... I mean what was the problem?"

"No drug is ever tested on human subjects, at the Centre or anywhere else, before they have an counter-agent prepared. This particular drug was first given to a convicted serial murderer, a brutal vicious thug. When they knew it had been successful, they administered the counter-agent and discovered their mistake. Separately, each chemical was relatively harmless, but brought together in the body they merged and became a virulent neuro-toxin that went straight through the blood-brain barrier as if it didn't exist and killed him instantly. The research teams tried for months but they never found anything safe that would also counteract the effects of the pyschotrope."

"So. I could get rid of the visions.... if I'm willing to die a horrible, painful death. Otherwise...."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to learn to live with it."

"There better be another option, Syd. You haven't heard today's update yet. I was talking to Terri and right in the middle of a sentence, I passed out and had another vision. They're comin' when I'm wide awake, now! Please don't tell me nothing can be done."

"What would you like to hear? I could lie if you think that will do any good."

"Syd.... What am I supposed to do? " Broots pleaded. "I can't handle any more."

"I know. I have a plan that will put you and Debbie far beyond the Centre's reach, if you're willing to hear it."

"I'm grasping at invisible straws here, Syd. How can I afford not to?"

"It won't be easy. It will mean being separated from Debbie for a week or two. Can you handle that?"

"Separated. You said...."

"I can get you both to safety, but you have to go first, otherwise the Tower will be suspicious."

"Go where?"

"That's the exciting part...."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hello. You awake?"

"You didn't actually think I'd be able to sleep did you?"

"I was hoping. No worries. I've got mild sedatives if you need them. Strawberry as per your request." he said, handing her the soy shake then digging into his satchel for the stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff.

"Get those things away from me."

"It's this or the I.V. Take your choice."

The ugly glare she gave him told him her decision. "I thought you might. Drink your dinner. I'll be done here in a minute. Hmmm. Better than it was earlier. By tomorrow morning you should be nearly back to normal." he informed her, stowing his equipment again and moving to his chair at the table. "Now. Feel like answering that question we never got to before?"

"Which was?"

"You're stalling."

Another nasty look shot his way, but she answered.

"I was my father's administrative assistant at Corporate."

"Fascinating, but what did you do?"

"A million and one little things he didn't have the time or patience to deal with; scheduling, banking, personal shopping."

"What are your degrees in again?"

"Poli. Sci., Business Management and Accounting plus Masters Certificates in Theoretical Math, Chemistry and International Finance."

"Dare I say the F word?"

"Not if you want to stay conscious."

"I didn't mean that one. You were a flunky. All that knowledge and what were you doing with it; running your legs to bloody stumps doing the garbage he couldn't be bothered with while he played "Lord of All I Survey" and arranged the abduction of more innocent children."

The intense death ray scowl she shot Methos said he was putting her feet too close to the fire, but he didn't back off completely. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice, girl. If you didn't know then, you do now."

"Whatever did or didn't happen wasn't his choice. His word isn't law at the Centre. He.... we all take our orders from someone higher up."

"Yes, yes. I know. Tower and Triumvirate. It can't last. I know you understand that. All that power and influence and weight... anything that top heavy can't help but collapse in on itself, flattening everyone underneath in the process. Then the PTB's will pick themselves out of the rubble, cluck their tongues at the carnage and stroll off to do it again somewhere else."

"Smug and arrogant is easy when you have not the slightest clue what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Go on. Tell me you haven't been hearing the creaking in the walls and seeing stress cracks in the ceiling for months now."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're the most evasive person I've ever attempted a conversation with. Answer the question for once."

Glaring at her hands, Parker was silent at first, trying to ignore Sydney's words ringing in her head, echoing the sentiment Methos had just confronted her with.

"Sydney's been saying the same thing for a while. Never when a camera or a mike could pick him up and never that bluntly, but.... he has said it. He's yet to convince me."

"Why not? I can see that you agree with us, in part at least."

"The place is my life. It's all I've ever known. I can't just accept.... Damn. I don't know why."

Rising, Methos walked to the cot and crouched beside Parker, setting her cup on the floor. As he talked, he held her hands lightly.

"The life of a human being isn't supposed to revolve around a building, love. Without people who care about you and something, or someone, outside yourself that *you* genuinely care about, where are you?"

"What the hell good are people and caring? You trust, you put yourself on the line and what do you get for it? Kicked in the head, yet again. It's not worth it. Not anymore." she responded, turning away from his eyes.

Reaching up a hand to her face, he turned her head back and held her chin gently but firmly.

"Listen carefully, alright? I'm going to reveal a fact of life that most of us learned as children, those allowed to *be* children that is. Are you hearing me?"

Parker nodded. "Good. Here it is. Not everyone who loves you will leave you, noone you've lost left because they wanted to and it has never, ever been your fault."

Realizing that the audacity of his words should have aroused near-homicidal rage within her, Parker reached once again for the anger she fed off, the only one of her emotions she had always been in full touch with. The result was the same as before. Suddenly knowing she was about to cry, Parker twisted her whole body away from Methos and tightly squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would contain the tears.

"What is it?"

"What do you think?! Why did you do this to me? You screwed me up worse than he did!"

"Tell me what I did. Help me understand."

"That stupid visualization! If you don't fix it, I'm going to go crazy, shred that door with my fingers, hunt the three of you down and kill you all in different ways!"

"I told you, I didn't shut it off, I can't make it work again."

"You don't understand. I need.... my anger. I can't connect with it. My mind keeps telling me that I should be ripping you apart right now, but I can't get angry!"

"Then tell your mind to bloody well shut up. Rage is the last thing you need at the moment. What you need is to get quiet and serene for a while and that'll never happen with all this turmoil going on in your head. When will you learn to just let it go? Once your mind clams up, you'll be able to hear what your heart is saying, and trust me, it's a message you need to get." Methos told her, rising to his full height. "You get some sleep. I'll be checking on you through the night."

The attack from behind a moment later wasn't totally unexpected. When she'd spoken of being unable to touch her anger, the tone of pure desperation in her voice had told him she'd do anything to change the situation. Turning around, he allowed her to back him against the door, his hands at his sides, his voice and expression deliberately neutral.

"You're wasting your time. I won't fight you and even if I did it wouldn't gain you what you want. Hurting me won't make your pain go away, but you do what you have to."

For the next twenty minutes, Methos did nothing while Parker beat him into near unconsciousness, inflicting new bruises and lacerations faster than the ones she'd already inflicted could heal. The assault continued until Macleod happened to look at the monitor. Grabbing Jarod he sped to the rescue, pulling Parker away while Jarod walked Methos out of the cell, supporting most of his weight, and shut the door.

As they moved away, Methos recovered somewhat and began to walk instead of stumbling.

"Are you insane? What were you thinking?"

"I'll heal. She had to see.... that her anger is.... owww! is useless to her.... unless she points in the right direction.... and that she won't get back in touch with it.... until she does... I think she broke my cheekbone."

Lowering the other slowly to the sofa, Jarod dropped beside him, probing gently at his face.

"Feels like it. It's healing already though. So. Is she ready for the last stage?"

"Almost. One more session and her head'll be where I want it. I've got her thinking about her father. Next it's her mother, then we throw the immersion at her. "

"It has to work. I can't let her keep on like she is. The cigarettes, the booze.... she's been trying to kill herself and she doesn't know it."

"Yeah. The ulcer as well, exacerbated by the alcohol and the pent up fury. That's come the closest to doing her in from what you've said."

"Absolutely." Jarod responded sadly, rising and wandering toward a window. "She's so strong, so capable. It seems strange to think that to save my life, I have to do the one thing she's not willing or able to do."

"Which would be?" Methos asked.

"Save herself."

Silently admitting the irony Jarod had pointed out, Methos stood, walked to his friend and watched the sun set with him, an arm around his shoulder, his heart, he suddenly realized, firmly in Jarod's back pocket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following morning, Jarod nearly leaped into the kitchen, ready to get on with the day and was immediately disappointed by Methos, who, delighting in playing big brother, insisted he sit and eat.

"But...."

"No. Time enough for all things Parker after breakfast. Sit and get started on your porridge. The steak and scrambled aren't quite ready."

Seating himself, Jarod looked at the bowl in front of him with obvious distaste and pushed it a few inches away.

"It's alright. I'll wait."

"Trust me. This is like nothing they ever fed you in that seaside insane asylum. Give it a shot before you toss it overboard."

Reluctantly, Jarod retrieved the bowl and dipped his spoon as shallowly into the contents as he could. His first tentative sip surprised him greatly and within a few minutes the bowl was clean.

"How did you do that? I never knew porridge could taste good!"

"A little cognac in the milk and fresh apple and honey added just before serving. Nothing to it."

"More?"

"With the steak and eggs? Sorry. I forgot I was talking to the original bottomless pit. Sure. Come and get it."

"What are the apples soaking in?"

"More cognac, some lemon juice and ice water. Keeps them from browning and flavors them at the same time."

"Another cooking lesson. Don't you two ever get enough?" Macleod chuckled as he entered and sat down to his own meal.

"Never." Jarod responded happily. "Learning expands your brain capacity. The more you learn, the more you're able to learn."

"Is that so? Then why can't he learn when to stop needling me and avoid a boot to the head?"

"I'd have to want to learn Mac, and annoying you is one of the few sources of pure enjoyment left in my life."

Gazing from one to the other and back, Jarod grinned.

"You two have the most unusual, backwards friendship I think I've ever seen." he commented.

Twisting the shaker with Parker's breakfast in it back and forth, Methos grinned at the words.

"Sometimes. Doesn't mean we wouldn't put it on the line for each other anytime, anywhere."

"We have done. Many times."

"Yeah. We have haven't we." Methos echoed, his expression softening in a way he rarely allowed it to anymore in front of anyone but Macleod. Walking past Duncan, he bent, whispered into his friend's ear then strolled out the door.

Refilling his bowl, Jarod served himself from the frying pan and joined Macleod at the table, a confused smile playing around his lips.

"Do you mind if I ask?"

"It wasn't important. Just a reminder of something I already knew."

"Oh." Jarod replied, smiling brightly as he looked up. "It's still nice to hear once in a while."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"Morning, sunshine. We up yet?"

When Parker didn't respond, he rushed to the bed where she sat, knees to her chest.

"Are you alright? Talk to me."

"I'm fine. You look a lot better than you should."

"Most of the damage is under fabric at the moment. I could barely crawl out of bed this morning. Breakfast?"

Quietly accepting the shaker from his hand she popped the top off and sipped at it, studying his eyes.

"Answer a question."

"If I can."

"Why?"

"I'm not the one you're really pissed at. I was trying to show you that taking it out on me, or any other innocent bystander for that matter, won't get you anywhere."

"I've been through this a million and one times. I'm angry with my mother for dying and my father for not loving me enough and sending me away. How close am I?"

"Keep going. You'll get there."

This earned him a raised eyebrow.

"Novel approach. It'll get you about as far as anything else, but at least you show some originality."

Pacing back and forth in front of Parker, Methos studied her carefully, trying to read beyond her outward expression of boredom and her perpetual lets-get-on-with-it-shall-we attitude.

"It's there you know. You've buried it about ten miles down, but it *is* there. It's part of what's eating you alive from the inside out."

Parker fought not to let his taunt reach her, tried not to even look at him, but it was only seconds before her exasperation took over.

"What? Just say it, will you? What have I buried so deep even I don't know it's there? "

Abruptly stopping the pattern he'd been walking, Methos locked her eyes to his, waiting until he had her full attention, then he responded.

"Everything. Near enough, anyway."

Turning toward the table he dropped into his usual chair, crossed his legs, folded his hands and waited for her to move the conversation forward. Eventually, she did.

"Love-15. Your point." she acknowledged, her voice low and dripping menace. "Everything means...."

"Just that. Who you really are, who you could have been, your spirit, a large chunk of your conscience and your heart all got trash-compacted into this neat little square. You dumped it in a hole, threw in the first shovel full of dirt and walked away, telling yourself it was best for everyone. Anything you were leaving behind you'd never need again anyway, so no big deal. Right?"

"Right."

"Wrong. See, the thing about burying vital parts of yourself is that you bury them alive. Can't get around it. You bury anything alive, you've almost got a dead bang guarantee it'll go zombie on you. Whatever you get rid of like that is bound to show up on your doorstep demanding payback, and trust me sweetheart, bitch doesn't even half describe what you'll find when you open the door."

"Your concern moves me, but my secrets and I are status-quo at the moment. Thanks for the free analysis, though."

"I have to disagree."

"Oh, do you really?"

"Afraid so. You didn't think you only buried positive stuff did you? Under that is the compost heap and the nasty emotional garbage we all try to screen out or, if it's putrid enough, bury as deep as we can manage and pretend it doesn't exist. In your case it's mostly made up of feelings you either can't face or can't make fit your world view jigsaw puzzle."

"How dare you presume to know me...."

"No presuming about it. I've seen a hundred like you, some better some far worse. I don't have to presume. You aren't just angry with Catherine. Somewhere in there is a tiny crumb of hate you reserve just for her. Leaving you wasn't bad enough; she left you with him and a secret you didn't know what to do with. You only knew you couldn't let him find out. Then there's the trip. She'd never broken a promise to you before that day.
Suddenly, she's gone and so is the flight to Europe. Oh, and we mustn't forget the final dash of salt she threw in your eyes. She had the audacity to die right in front of you, leaving you with her murder branded on your memory for the rest of your life. Didn't even possess the decency to die in private, did she? Talk about gall...."

When Parker came him for him this time, Methos was ready. Grasping her forearms to prevent the loss of his eyes to her fingernails, he held her off solidly but spoke to her in soothing tones in deference to the tears he could see her trying to suppress. "It's okay. You're allowed here. Cry all you want. Noone's going to slice you to ribbons for it."

"Son of a..... the minute you let me go I'll kill you....."

"Didn't work yesterday and it won't work now. You don't want to hurt me or yourself anymore. Don't see me. See the one you really want to talk to."

"Shut up! Let... me.... go!"

Tearing out of Methos' grip, Parker stumbled back to the cot and slumped down facing away from him, her body shaking almost invisibly as she tried to rein in the sobs that threatened to shake her to pieces.

Walking to her, he placed one hand in the center of her shoulders. When she didn't shake him off, he slid that hand back and forth, comforting her the best he could.

"You need to say it, love. You have to tell her how much you hurt, get rid of the pain and the darkness once and for all. Take back the soul that place and those people have stolen from you. It's already so ill and so damaged.... If you let them keep it you'll never be whole. Take it back before they destroy it forever."

Her trembling subsiding, Parker stood and moved away from Methos' touch. Knowing it was time to let her be, he grabbed her empty cup and left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I still say Jarod should have the extra few hours."

"She needs the isolation. The more time we give her to contemplate her navel, the better."

"Alright. Put it this way. He deserves the time. He's been way beyond patient and forgiving."

Considering for a moment, Methos made a partial concession.

"Alright, but not all of it. A half-hour more than he asked for and that's it. I want her to get worried about what's going on out here. Let her wonder whether we just left her. It'll make her all the more grateful to see Jarod when he does show up."

His face expressing worry of its own, Macleod shook his head slightly and walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLUE COVE:

"I told you last night what I think and I'll say it again. It'll never work! Raines' nose is already in the wind. If I spit on the sidewalk, he's gonna know!"

"I swear to you, you will be safe. It's the only way to save your life."

"But me? And Jarod? I mean.... he's.... Jarod."

"You're afraid of him? I don't understand. You know Jarod is a good, kind man...."

"Not anymore I don't. Every bad guy he's taken down over the last few months has been hurt a little worse. He keeps takin' it closer to the edge. Don't try and tell me you haven't noticed Syd. I know you have. I was there the last time. A quarter-inch closer with that saw and that timber foreman would have spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Jarod almost cut his legs off, Sydney. As it is he left him with a couple ugly wounds that'll take months and maybe some skin grafts to get them to heal. So, yeah. He scares me."

"But he will heal, and in the federal penitentiary where he belongs. Jarod would never have gone that far, Broots. I know him. He's a stable personality. He follows predictable paths to his goals and takes predictable steps along those paths."

"Did you predict him shanghaiing miss Parker?"

"No, of course not, but there were other factors involved...."

"Enough excuses, Syd. He's not a little boy anymore. You can't explain away every wrong thing he does and you can't save him from himself if he decides to self-destruct... He's been in the world for a while now. He knows the rules. What if my vision wasn't of the Centre after all?" Broots theorized. "What if he's gonna end up in a looney bin for real instead of playing like he did before, and my going to be with him is what puts him there?"

Rising from his chair, Sydney moved to sit beside Broots on the couch.

"Listen. Part of the reason I went back to the Centre yesterday was to e-mail Jarod. He knows what happened to you.... and I told him about your first vision."

"You what? Damn it, Sydney that was the last thing he needed to hear! With Miss Parker and his own emotional stuff tangling up his feet he doesn't need mine too."

"It's the only way. I couldn't ask him to shelter you without knowing what he was getting into. This will have to happen soon. If Raines were to discover your abilities and how you acquired them he would never stop until you were back in the Centre under his control. This may be the only way I can get you clear of the fall-out from what I've done. I won't let my best friend be destroyed."

Squashing the rage he was so unaccustomed to feeling, Broots rose to his feet abruptly.

"Too late, Syd. Lyle set me up for that five years ago. I'm gonna go talk to Terri some more. Even if she doesn't know the whole story, she's good at makin' me feel like less of a freak. You want us to go in the bedroom so we won't bug you?"

"No, no. Stay out here. I want to be close by in case of.... whatever."

"Whatever, huh? Nice, safe substitute word. You meant to say 'in case another vision drags me into hell and I can't get back on my own.' "

"You know, you don't have to let this become a demon out to destroy you, Chris. You could do so much good with your gift. You could save lives."

"Gift? No. If it was a gift I could refuse it or return it or exchange it for something I really wanted. No, this is more like herpes. It goes away, then it comes back and there's no cure."

"I wish you could see the truth of what you've been given. An evil source doesn't always produce an evil product. Look at Raines and Angelo."

"Bad example, Syd. Really bad. Angelo may not be evil but they've messed him up so bad he'll never leave the Centre again. They could tell him he's free to go, show him the open door and all he'd do is squint at the sun and run back inside. Even if he wasn't Raines' pet.... he's still a prisoner."

To this argument, Sydney had no rebuttal.

"Should I tell Jarod you're coming?" Sydney inquired as Broots moved off again.

The answer took a long time, but eventually Broots responded.

"If it means Debbie and I can be together and safe.... yeah. I'll do it."

"Good. You've made the right choice."

"My only choice."

"You're right, unfortunately. I wish there was another way."

"Me too. See you...."

"If you need an aspirin...."

"You'll hear about it. I think it's getting better."

"Find peace, my friend."

As the kitchen door swung shut, Sydney drew a deep, slow breath, released it and let his gaze fall, coming to rest on a drawer in the base of the coffee table. Leaning down to open it, he slid out a Bible and sat back again, hefting it in his hands as if testing the weight. What he was really considering was the ultimate cost of trying to reestablish a faith he had long ago abandoned in favor of science and the surety it provided. Letting the book fall open on his lap, he turned the frangible pages gently until he found what he was searching for.

Laying one hand over the page that held the Twenty-Third Psalm, he began to recite it softly in French. When he finished, he spoke what he remembered of the Lord's Prayer then composed a personal missive to what he had once believed was only empty sky. Having no other source of protection and guidance to turn to, Sydney prayed from the depths of his soul, hoping against hope that the heavens were not as barren as he had convinced himself they must be so many years before when he had first walked through the doors of the Centre.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What do you mean have I seen him? Where is he?"

"I don't know sir. I checked the west wing personally and I'm in contact with three other men who've checked east, north and south. They had no success either. We will go floor by floor of course, in case he's down on one of the sub-levels, but.... he appears to have vanished."

"Vanished. I'm beginning to despise that word. If I didn't know better I'd think the command staff of this complex were all training to be magicians! Start the sub-level search immediately. Check everywhere even vaguely large enough for him to hide in. You did check to make sure his car is still here?"

"Yes. Of course we..."

The young security officer stopped himself, a concerned look on his face.

"What?"

"Well.... it was a distance verification, Doctor Raines, sir. Noone has looked to be sure Mister Parker isn't in the car."

"Well do it you imbecile! He could be hurt or ill! Go now! Report what you find only to me. Is that clearly understood?"

"Yes sir, Doctor Raines, sir." the officer replied before running off, speaking rapidly into his two-way radio.

Around a corner not ten feet from where Raines had stood just moments before, Mister Parker waited until the squeak of the oxygen tank's wheels had faded out completely before peering out into the corridor. He had spent all morning avoiding the men sent to look for him as he moved around the Centre, collecting pieces he had scattered in a hundred different hiding places all over every level of the building.

Now that he had them together again, the trick was getting them, and himself, to the safety of his office, just a few terrifying feet of open ground away. Making absolutely sure noone was approaching, he rushed across the hall, his steps echoing and the computer disks and DSA's in his pocket rattling so loudly he was sure everyone in the complex could hear.

As he entered, he flicked on the lights then touched a concealed button just beneath the switch that sent the cameras in his office into a feedback loop of his creation. It showed him going about normal tasks and moving around the office, while he finished his real morning's work in private. Striding to his desk, he sat and punched in the code that opened his left hand desk drawer, placed the material he'd gathered inside it, closed it again and changed the code.

He knew too well that any Centre executive insisting on secured drawers or file cabinets was required to submit copies of the keys or electronic codes to the Tower, and half a dozen others, and resubmit when they were changed. Only he could now open this Pandora's box. He could only pray he would never be questioned on it. His single strand lifeline was now in that drawer and he didn't intend to see it break.

No matter what happened, the information the disks contained would keep him alive and in his position for as long as he wanted to stay, but only if he could maintain the secret of their existence and location. He had gone on his gathering mission this morning after finally admitting to himself that the periods of blankness and lost hours were happening much more often lately, and that he could no longer be totally sure of his ability to keep any of his secrets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER

"You're absolutely sure we should wait so long?"

"I told you, she has to stew. Let her go a little crazy." Methos reassured him.

"Lunch is all set."

"Great. I'll go get Jarod. I want to see what he's been doing with the stereo up there anyway."

"Look, don't bug him. Just bring him to lunch. It's his project. Let it stay that way."

"You know what he's up to don't you?"

"Not really. I have some small idea. He wouldn't talk about it."

"So?"

"I said it's his business. I'm not prying and don't you either."

Knowing Macleod well enough to back off well in advance of a blow up, Methos smoothly shifted subjects.

"You still in this with me tonight? Eleventh hour, mate."

"I'm in. I don't like it anymore, but I'm in. I see more humanity in her now. If she were still the ice queen.... it maybe wouldn't put my back up so much to hurt her like we're going to."

"Hurt to heal. This was your idea, if you remember right. Only good one you've had in a long while too..."

"Forget it. You can't insult me into a good mood this time."

"Who said anything about cheering you up? Your good ideas are very few and far between and you've never had a great one. And let's not even approach your I.Q....."

Despite the thundercloud looming over his head, Duncan finally smiled, gently wrapping his hands around Methos' neck from behind and shaking him a bit.

"Fine. I'll lighten up a little. I know it's for the greater good."

"Now you're getting it. On second thought, why don't you go rouse Jarod? I think I'll put a salad together."

"Make it Greek. It'll go well with the lamb chops."

Heading for the stairs, Mac stopped and called Methos back. "Hey. Did you mean it.... what you said in the kitchen this morning?"

"Wouldn't have said it otherwise."

"Hmm. Okay."

"And what exactly does "Hmm. Okay" mean?"

Moving back to Methos' side, Duncan whispered in his ear, then turned back to the stairs.

"Ditto? What the hell is ditto?"

"The movie's in the rack in the T.V. room. I'll throw it in the VCR for you when all this is over."

"What movie?"

"Ghost, you Hollywood-magic deprived little twit. We'll be right down."

As he neared Jarod's room, Macleod could vaguely detect a heavy bassline pumping from the small stereo Jarod had bought himself not long before. Peeking in, he found the other man sitting on the floor, one leg tucked close to him, the other stretched out, and headphones pressed to his ears with both hands. So as not to scare him Duncan stepped into the room and into Jarod's field of vision and waited to be noticed.

"Duncan. I'm so glad you're here." he enthused, pulling off the headphones and remotely stopping the music. "Explain this to me." he said, handing the Scot the jewel case for the CD he was currently listening to.

"Metallica? Sorry, son. As far as I'm concerned, there is no explanation for heavy metal, and no excuse either."

"I don't mean that. Explain how they know."

"Know what? How to blow their fans eardrums apart?"

All he got was a reproachful look this time. "Alright, alright. What are you asking me?"

"Take out the paper inside the cover and look... here it is. Look at the lyric for "Until it Sleeps".

Removing and unfolding the paper insert, Macleod found the song and began to read pieces of the lyric out loud.

"Rip me open, but beware, there's things inside without a care.... the dirt still stains me.... hold me 'till it sleeps. Jarod....."

"Just tell me how they know what I'm feeling. There's this negative charge building up inside me. It doesn't seem like it could possibly be that easy.... that if I just had someone to hold me.... all the pain and the anger.... and the fear would just go to sleep."

Crossing the room, Duncan crouched by Jarod, laying a hand on his shoulder to soften the blow of his words.

"It isn't easy, Jarod. They don't really know anything. It's just a song."

"No. I don't believe it. It's more than that. Sydney was always so reserved. I know he wanted to care for me, treat me like his son, but he couldn't let himself. If he'd shown the slightest sign of losing his objectivity, they would have...."

"I know. Doctor oxygen. Go on."

"I didn't understand. Not then anyway. It's taken me all this time away from the Centre to gain perspective on... on our relationship. Sydney was doing the kindest thing he could.... by not caring."

"He made them happy and kept you from a worse hell than the one you were already in."

"He didn't see my life like that, but you're right. When I was still little, I must have climbed into his lap a thousand times. He put me down, he yelled, he even spanked me. I wouldn't stop. I couldn't. Finally he stopped coming to see me. The only person I saw for an entire week was the guard who brought my meals. After that.... I understood. I never tried to get close to him again. When he realized, years later, that I was still emotionally attached to him, he shut that down too, and.... I lost something. I don't know if I'll ever get it back, Duncan."

"Jarod. C'mon man." he implored, gesturing with the insert, "This is just words on paper...."

Growling, Jarod pulled away from Macleod and leapt to his feet.

"I'm sorry. I was wrong to ask. I thought you'd understand... that you could help *me* understand." he seethed, venting a crumb of his inner torment by fiercely lobbing the headphones at the far wall. "There's something wrong inside me.... Something unbalanced and.... and violent keeps pushing aside my rational thoughts and my control when I get angry. I end up doing more.... going further than I mean to. This last time.... I realized what I was about to do just before I cut a man's legs off at the knees with an industrial saw. I could have killed him.... or left him in a wheelchair for life."

In his frustration, Jarod stalked to the window and pounded the glass once with the palms of his hands. From his position several feet away, Macleod felt, more than heard, the window frame rattle, a vivid reminder of Jarod's strength. Moving to stand behind Jarod, he began to press and roll his fingers and the heels of his hands into his friend's shoulders, hoping to calm him and soothe his skyrocketing tension.

"Did you do it?"

"No, but...."

"Uh-uh. No qualifiers. Did you step over? Is the line at your heels or isn't it?"

"No."

"Then do something before it's too late. Once you make the choice to leave the nursery.... there's no turning around. Some things you can't go back and make better. You have to decide whether to walk into the darkness on your own ticket, or fight it every time it tries to drag you back in...."

Feeling Jarod's muscles suddenly go rigid under his hands, Macleod opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but had no time to even form the first word. In a blur of motion Jarod tightened his hand into a fist and slammed it through the glass pane it had been resting on, showering the planting below with shards of glass and drops of his blood.

"Jarod! What the... Here. Come sit down." Macleod told him, leading him to a chair and wrapping a piece torn from his shirt around the injured hand to try and stop the bleeding. "Was that really necessary, hmmm? You could have gone down and hit the punching bag, you silly bugger. Jarod. Are you hearing me? Bloody great. Not a sign of life."

Wondering what could possibly be taking so long, Methos started up the stairs just in time to hear the glass shatter. Racing into the room, he stared wonderingly at the two men at the desk then swept in to take over Jarod's care.

"Looks like he put it straight through. Told you he was strong." Methos commented, lifting Jarod's injured hand as gently as he could. The movement pulled Jarod out of his shock stupor with a full voice scream. "Good. You're back." Methos greeted him, wincing and wishing he'd had a free hand to protect his ear. "Relax, alright? You're not hurt badly. A broken bone or two, maybe, but otherwise you're just fine."

"It hurts...."

"I know. Lord, he's got cuts halfway up the forearm. I have to really examine the hand, Jarod. Be tough here, okay? Not too bad. Feels like you busted your index finger.... and the knuckle on the ring finger. Could have been loads worse. I'll go get my bag. You try and stay calm and still. Don't go moving that hand around."

Macleod waited until Methos left to question Jarod.

"Alright. Feel like telling me what happened?"

"I don't know." Jarod replied, sounding uncannily like a small child, frightened more than hurt and worried he'll be punished for an accident that wasn't his fault.

"You're not sure why you did it or you can't remember doing it?"

"I don't remember. Tape's been edited. Those few seconds are gone."

"We were talking and you suddenly tensed up; way up. Then you put your fist through the window."

"I did what?"

"Turn just your head, not your body, and look over where we were standing."

Seeing the shattered pane of glass, Jarod's heart flooded with guilt and remorse.

"I... I'm so sorry, Duncan. I'll pay for it. I swear I will."

"None of that. Glass is fixable. You, I'm getting worried about. Between what you were saying earlier about not always being in control and hurting yourself like this...."

"I can't stop. You know that. Too many people need me."

"Whatever happened to you needing you? Besides. Boris and Natasha have come to rely on your stings as a surefire method of finding you. Take it away from them for a while. Take a break, stay here. Let the two of us help you work through some things."

"No. You've had enough of other people's problems and mental scorched earth stuff lately. I'll stay, but...."

Jarod censored his next words as Methos reentered the room, carrying his medical bag and Jarod's laptop.

"Your 'puter was ringing." he said by way of explanation. Setting it down on the desk next to Jarod's good hand, he sat again and began to work on the other. "I'm going to have to set the breaks so brace yourself. Starting in now...."

As Methos straightened the broken fingers, Jarod found Duncan's shoulder and gripped it ferociously. "Good. Strong boy. I'm almost done. Let me splint these and clean up the cuts and we can all go down for lunch."

Leaning his head back, Jarod began to slow his breathing and heart rate, trying to calm himself and clear his mind. The result of the attempt was a question.

"Duncan?"

"Yeah."

"Who are those two people you mentioned?"

"People?"

"Boris and Natasha."

Chuckling, Duncan neatened Jarod's hair a little as he answered.

"I'll show you after lunch. I think you'll recognize them."

"Oh. That would be.... great.... " he replied, hissing through his teeth, but not complaining as Methos removed glass fragments and disinfected multiple scrapes and cuts. Never one to be a coward about pain, he, nevertheless, decided to begin a meditation to take his mind a short distance away from the stinging and the irritation.

Taking advantage of Jarod's inattention Methos shot a look of deep concern at Duncan, who held his friend's eyes for a moment, returning the worry, then turned and gazed at the broken window, wondering how he could ever have believed it was peace Jarod sought when he stared into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TBC.....

In her room, Parker wasn't yet even in a mild panic, though she could feel it approaching. Instead, left to her own devices, the craving for nicotine had finally raised its ugly head. She had spent the hours since Methos' last visit making a thorough search of her bags and the half empty supply basket, praying for a stray cigarette or a piece of nicotine gum; anything to gain relief from the tremors and headache that had attacked her. Abruptly, her stomach growled urgently, reminding her that she hadn't had any solid food in a day and a half.

Glancing at her watch, for lack of any other entertainment, she realized it was nearly two o'clock and well past the time she'd become accustomed to seeing someone. Dropping to the bed exhausted, she tried to rationalize and explain away why noone had yet shown up, while terrifying scenarios began to run through her mind; a dark undercurrent to the reasonable, logical thoughts she was clinging to for dear life.

Frustration, her onrushing nicotine fit and unbidden images of disaster in the world beyond her mouse-trap viciously assaulted her at the same time, leading her to rise, stalk to the door and begin kicking it over and over, with all the strength she had left. After several minutes, the pain from her foot finally bellowed louder than the other crises she was facing and she stopped. Dropping to the floor she laid one hand on the smooth surface, as if she might receive some idea of the situation in the house by osmosis.

When it sank in that she had, most likely, been abandoned, she voluntarily disengaged herself from the world around her and slid into the white noise, desiring only to stay there, drowning in lack of sensation, until she forgot there was a world to return to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLUE COVE:

Deeply engrossed in paperwork that had somehow developed a life of its own when he wasn't looking, Mister Parker only vaguely registered that someone was hammering furiously on his locked office door. Though he tried to ignore it, the visitor was maddeningly persistent, so he rose and unlocked the door, leaving them to let themselves in. To his disgust and dismay, Raines was invading his space once again.

"Where have you been?"

"What do you mean? I've been right here catching up on paperwork for the past three hours. Why? Is there news?"

"Yes, actually. First things first. Four security teams have been searching the Centre for you since late this morning."

"I don't understand. I had brunch in the executive dining hall, then I came directly back here."

Raines stared at the man behind the desk, as if trying to picture him in front of a firing squad, then produced a phone.

"Squad one leader. Report to Mister Parker's office immediately."

Moving into the office, Raines claimed the chair directly across from the other man, scowling at him silently, not bothering to hide his desire to crack Parker's calm facade, preferably with a crescent wrench.

When the young security officer arrived, his shock at seeing Mister Parker was obvious in his expression.

"Sir. I...."

"Don't bother." Raines grunted, cutting him off. "Shall I assume that when you told me you'd looked everywhere, you excluded this office from the search?"

Glancing from Raines to the other man, the youth began to tremble slightly, remembering his indoctrination lecture on failure; all five-tenths of a second of it, the time it took his instructor to say "Don't".

"No, sir. I mean.... this was the first place I looked. The door was secured properly and there were no lights on. "

"Of course. Parker. No lights?"

"I was on the other side of the room working on my laptop. He wouldn't have seen the lights by the couch from outside the door. Naturally he'd think the office was empty. Release the other teams and return to your usual assignment."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

His trembling now flowing from intense relief that he still lived, the young man retreated from the office as fast as courtesy and discipline would allow.

Once he was gone, Raines began to rage against Mister Parker, but didn't get very far.

"How dare you get between me and my people?! Who do you think you are to...."

"Save it, doctor. He's barely shaving for God's sake. He made an honest error. Leave him alone."

"My people don't make errors. Yours, however...."

"Yes, yes. I've heard it all before. You said there was news?"

Despite his obvious fury at Parker's disrespect, the reminder perked Raines' spirits back up.

"You, Sydney and Mister Broots are to go before the Triumvirate tomorrow morning to explain how circumstances have gotten so.... out of hand."

"About damn time. Maybe now we'll get some answers. I assume you've informed Sydney?"

"A team is on their way to his home as we speak. I though it prudent to secure them now instead of finding out in the morning that they had also.... vanished."

"Wise. Very wise. Sydney's been acting strangely lately. I'm not exactly sure I trust him as I once did. Was there anything else? No luck on the searches for Molly and Lyle I suppose."

"No. They will be found, but...."

"I understand. You will excuse me now, I hope? I do have a great deal to do."

For a short while longer, Raines stayed where he was, as if he thought he could intimidate the other man with his mere presence. When it was obvious he was having no effect, he creaked slowly to his feet and left the room, dragging his ever-present steel tank behind.

For the briefest moment, Parker considered going after him, knocking him to the floor and depriving him of his needed oxygen for as long as it took the ghoul to die, but realized the satisfaction wouldn't be nearly worth the Tower's retribution afterwards.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Yes. Yes, I understand, Michael. We'll be right there. I will. I know you're trying your best. It isn't your fault. Yes. Yes, I will tell him. Goodbye. Chris! We need to get into costume again."

"Please. I asked you not to use that name. Wait. Costume? We're going back to the abbey?"

The hint of excitement in Broots' voice made Sydney curious.

"You want to go back?"

"Yeah. Actually.... I had an idea. Between here and Jarod, I was hoping Michael would let me stay with him and the other monks. I'd really love it and I wouldn't be so lonely, you know, missin' Debbie and all."

Chagrined, Sydney turned to Broots, smiling.

"You're right. It's the perfect solution. I should have come up with it myself. I'm sorry. I'm so preoccupied right now...."

"I know. It's okay. I just hope he thinks it's such a great idea."

As he walked to the closet to retrieve the robes and sandals again, Terri exploded into the room just in front of him, forcing him to stumble backwards.

"Abe! The guys that bushwhacked me just pulled up out front."

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Trust me, okay? Oh, this time they will regret ever hearing my name...."

"No, Terri. You can't."

"My fight, Abe. Join in or don't, but no interference."

"Those men will kill us all in a heartbeat, Terri and never think a thing about it. No conscience, no remorse and they will never see a courtroom. Our only chance is to get out of here. "

"No good." she told him, peering cautiously from behind a curtain. "Only half the number I saw is still out front. The rest must have split off to cover the back door. We're not leaving that way."

His options seemingly gone, Sydney could do nothing but stand in the middle of the floor, paralyzed by the thought that Raines' threat was about to come true and he would be unable to save any of them from it.

"Abe. Abe, are you alright?"

"No, but you will be. You head down to the basement. They aren't looking for you. You should be safe there."

"What?"

"Broots and I are the only ones they expect to find here. You must hide until you're sure the two of us and the men have all gone...."

"You're nuts. No way I'm gonna crawl into a hole while the MIB's drag you and Petey away. Forget it."

"Terri, please...."

"No, Abe. I won't."

"Me either." Broots spoke up. "I'm not going with them. She's right. We go down together or we find a way out of this together."

"I won't let you give up and you don't have any right to surrender in his name. I'm a black belt in three different disciplines, Abe and not too far away from it in a fourth." Terri reminded him. "I can show him what to do in a couple seconds. Let me help."

The pounding on the door and the shouts for Sydney and Broots to let the sweepers into the house broke Sydney's emotional numbness, forcing him to realize that Terri's plan might be the only way any of them would see another day of freedom.

"Fine. We might as well shoot for the moon. I see no other way."

Maneuvering Broots to one side of the door and Sydney to the other, Terri rapidly demonstrated to Chris how to use his hands to their best effect without hurting himself. Knowing Sydney had nearly the level of martial arts training she did, Terri merely reminded him of his own injuries before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

"Yes. Can I help you?"

As she expected from their earlier behavior, the three men waiting outside pushed past her into the living room. Not anticipating any resistance, the sweepers were easily surprised and subdued. At Sydney's suggestion, In deference to Broots' still healing lower back, Terri helped Chris drag the unconscious sweepers back out to their car one at a time. After securing all the sets of keys they could find, Sydney locked and closed the doors.

"We've only got a few minutes before they get after us. Let's go take out the guys in the back and get the hell out of here." Terri proposed.

"They won't be coming after anyone for a while. All Centre limousines have police locking systems on all the rear doors. They can only be unlocked from the driver's position and only with the key in the ignition. The windows are also shatterproof."

"I get it. That's why we have all the keys."

"Right. I'd say moving straight to getting the hell out of here would be our best course of action. Let the men in the rear deal with this mess."

"Total agreement here. Get in there and get what you guys need, Petey, and move those cute little buns before those others get antsy." Terri prodded Broots with a gentle swat for emphasis that brought a bright flush to his cheeks he was distinctly glad she couldn't see.

Several minutes later, as they waited in Terri's Range Rover in the garage, Terri and Sydney had just begun to become nervous when several muffled explosions from the house sent them both vaulting out of the vehicle and racing back towards the connecting door into the kitchen.

Halfway across the cement floor, Broots stumbled out to meet them, his head whipping back and forth from his friends to the house, his expression a disconcerting mixture of hate and terror.

"Broots! What happened in there?"

"I've got everything. Let's just go, alright?"

"Wait. We heard...."

"Not now. Maybe not ever." he insisted, clambering into the back seat of the vehicle just ahead of Terri. "Just get me out of here and do it now."

Knowing their short time had dwindled to less than nothing, Sydney held his questions, opened the garage door and moved the SUV out of the building and away from the house, not pushing even when Broots lay down on the seat and curled into a fetal position, the monks robes draped over him and clutched tightly to his chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"One more time. Slowly and calmly."

"Yes sir, Doctor. Half of our team is locked in the car and all keys have been stolen. When we didn't receive a report from them in the required amount of time, my group went in through the back door and found Mister Broots collecting clothing from a closet. I told him to stop where he was, and when he looked up at the sound of my voice.... all our weapons vaporized, sir. They just exploded. I was the lucky one. I hadn't drawn my pistol yet. Nichols and Peters had theirs in their hands."

"I'll send back up and medical help immediately."

It was a long moment before Raines could turn and look at the man who stood just behind him in the corridor. "It appears Mister Parker was correct about Sydney shielding Broots from us. Now we know why."

As he related the incident at Sydney's home, the eyes of the other widened considerably.

"That poor excuse for a computer nerd? It can't be possible."

"I trust Lewis. He's one of the best sweepers we have. "

"How?"

"I expect I'll learn the answer to that and many other questions when I finally have Broots back here and I can dissect the little rat... whisker by whisker." Raines grunted, moving away down the hall, dialing his cell phone to summon help for his injured men.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Though they had traveled less than half the distance to the abbey, Terri convinced Sydney to put aside his urgent rush to get them all to safety and stop to tend to Broots who, by now, was sobbing heavily. Moving closer to him she sat him up so she and Sydney could talk to him.

"Petey. What is it? You can tell me what happened at the house. I'll understand, I swear I will...."

Broots' only answer was to try to pull away from her touch and escape out the door at his back, but Sydney appeared there, blocking his exit.

"Please, Chris. Talk to us."

Aware, now, that he wasn't going to make it out of the car, Broots stared from one to the other, then stuffed his compact body into the foot-well below his seat facing up at his friends, arms over his face as he sank deeper into his private anguish.

To make things easier, Sydney climbed into the rear seat with Terri and closed the door.

"Broots. You have to talk to us. You can't go on like this. Whatever happened...."

"No... I have to get out. Just.... leave me here..."

"What? You know we can't do that. I would never abandon you. We vowed to be there for each other through this, remember?"

"We heard the gunshots, Petey. Did...."

"No! God, no...."

"If it wasn't gunshots what was it, Petey?" Terri encouraged, grasping his hand and holding it tightly. "You can tell us anything. It'll be alright, I promise. Just say it."

"Please, Syd. If you won't let me out.... then take me back.... take me back...."

"Back where?" Sydney asked him softly. "Where do you want to go?"

"To the Centre.... it's the only place for me now.... please, take me back...."

Stunned beyond words, Sydney had to make a concerted effort to respond, and even then his voice shook.

"Never. I will never let them kill you while I'm alive to prevent it."

"You don't understand! I don't care anymore! I hurt people. I should die for that! I should die...." he repeated, trying to make an even tighter ball of himself.

Sydney, suddenly confronted with deep nausea and an urge to curl up and weep himself, turned toward the window. Realizing how disturbed he was, Terri gently patted his good shoulder.

"Take a minute, Abe. I'll talk to him for a while."

Sydney nodded slowly, trying to breathe deeply and regain his composure.

"Petey. Can you explain what you mean? Who did you hurt?"

"The... the other sweepers.... back at the house. When I was getting the costumes.... they busted in the back door... ran in from the kitchen.... I was so surprised.... and mad at myself for letting them catch me.... I looked up when one of them yelled at me.... and their...."

"Their what, Petey? C'mon. Get it all out. You'll feel so much better if you just say the words."

"Their guns just bl- blew up.... in their hands.... I.... I knew they had to be hurt.... but I just took off.... I ran away.... and I left them there."

"You had no choice, man. Whoever these guys are there were bound to be more of them coming and none of 'em with any sympathy for you." Terri soothed, stroking his hand and trying to comfort him as best she could, biting back her own questions and disbelief.

"You just don't get it! I've never hurt anyone in my life before these last few days... I don't want to hurt anyone else. If the only way to stop me is for me to die or be locked up at the Centre, then..."

Abruptly, Sydney turned back to face Broots, pulling the hand Terri held into his own grip and taking hold of the other as well. Using his own strength, and Chris' eventually, he maneuvered Broots back up onto the car seat.

"I want you to look directly into my eyes, Broots, so you'll believe I truly mean every word I'm about to say to you. Into my eyes, please."

Only when his friend complied would Sydney continue. "Good. Listen to me, Christian. You didn't want to hurt those men. It wasn't a conscious decision on your part. It was a split second reaction with no intent behind it but a need to save yourself and Terri and me. You aren't responsible. Are we clear?"

Though Broots nodded his understanding, Sydney knew he had a long way to go yet before he really believed.

"Good. We have to move. We're far too vulnerable out here and we must reach the abbey as soon as possible. Lyle's developed a serious infection. He's quite ill."

Sliding out, Sydney returned to the driver's seat, started the car and pulled back out onto the secondary road they had stopped by the side of.

In the back seat, Broots, physically and emotionally running on empty, had leaned his head back against the leather and closed his eyes. Obeying a sudden impulse, Terri reached out and tipped him forward, slipping an arm behind his back then supporting his weight down into the warm circle of her arm, pulling him close to her side and wrapping that arm around his shoulders. Feeling as if she'd discovered a long lost younger brother, she stretched the other hand out and closed the window, not wanting the weary man to be chilled, then placed her head close to his and softly hummed a vaguely remembered song from her childhood until she was sure he was asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER:

"So. It's all ready then?"

"Yeah. It's great. She's as close to being in the right mind set as she can be and the room's perfect. The sound and imaging systems are all up and running. Nothing more we can do now. It's up to her and the illusions we provide her. We just have to wait and see if it all works like it's supposed to."

"I'll call Jarod."

"He hasn't come down?"

"No. Both trays of food I brought him just sat there until I came to get them."

"Hmmm. He'll be better when this is all finished."

"Maybe."

Turning away, Methos grabbed a thick novel and thumped into one of the chairs on the other side of the room, brooding about Jarod and wondering what nasty, icky death he would have to accept from Macleod when he discovered what Methos was about to do to their carefully thought out plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At Duncan's summons, Jarod finally emerged from his room, moving slowly down the stairs and pointedly ignoring the concerned expressions of the other two. Favoring his injured hand, he hugged them both quickly, but chose to stay silent, moving off down the hall to face Parker.

Stopping to check the monitor just outside the door, he immediately knew something had gone terribly wrong. She was far too still and quiet and the position she held might not even let him open the door without hurting her. Pulling his copy of the remote from a pocket, he entered the unlock code and slowly pushed the door inward, watching the monitor to be sure he didn't bump her. When the gap was as wide as possible, he attempted to squeeze through and just barely made it, shutting it again behind him.

"Parker? Talk to me. Well. It's my fault. I let Methos talk me into waiting. Now look at her...."

Gently pulling Parker to her feet, Jarod slung one of her arms over his shoulders and towed her to the cot where he gently lowered her onto the mattress and dropped down beside her.

"Miss Parker. You're alright. It's okay to come back now. C'mon. Come back to the world. You're safe, I swear. Please...."

His instinct suddenly whispering in the bottom of his mind, Jarod tried a new tack, trusting an intuition that had rarely failed him in the past. "Missy. It's Jarod. We're in the white zone. White means safety, remember? Red zone is danger; fear friends and strangers. White zone is peace; here find release...."

Jarod's words brought the first voluntary movement from her he'd seen since he found her, but it took another fifteen minutes to get her to come around completely. "Missy? Hey. Good to see you. Welcome back."

Realizing her head was snuggled close to Jarod's chest and her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, Parker tore away and moved clumsily off the bed, her revolted expression saying it all.

"What.... do you think you're doing?"

"My apologies. You were catatonic when I got here. I don't know how long you were out of it before that. I've been trying to bring you around for, oh.... half an hour. Glad to see it finally worked."

"What worked?"

"I used your nickname from when we were young. It seemed to be the only thing you could hear. You were totally unresponsive until...."

"Don't! You say that name and I'll give you a bikini wax you won't soon forget."

Gazing at her thoughtfully, Jarod tried to see in her eyes what was going on in her mind, but she'd completely shut down once again.

"It's just a name. Why should it upset you so much?"

"Because I'm not that child anymore, Jarod. I left the nickname and the hiding places and the daydreams behind when my mother died. I became someone else."

"I know. Never liked her much."

"Why should you? No reason to like someone who's trying to force you to live up to your commitments and responsibilities."

"I bet you don't even remember why you ended up with that nickname."

"No. I don't. I told you..."

"You left it behind. I know. I remembered for you. You came up with the name. You told me you'd decided to drop your first name and be Miss Parker forever, so you'd never forget what you were called by the only person that ever really loved you...."

"Jarod, stop."

"I happen to like the name. In my mind, you'll always be Missy. It isn't what he called you or the name the world uses. Missy represents my images of you, my thoughts."

Back to him, Parker seethed quietly, options for how to respond jumbling together in her head until she couldn't sort them out.

"I hate that name. All it means to me is a time and a place that I can't forget no matter how much I want to. I want to erase the name, erase that part of my life and erase you!"

"Missy..."

"I said stop calling me that! Don't you hear, rat boy? Did all the pampering as a baby lab rat stunt your hearing? Don't speak that name! As a matter of fact, don't speak at all. You give me a headache."

Looking at Parker through slitted eyes, Jarod found, for the first time that the nasty, degrading words were reaching him, making him upset and angry, to a degree they never had before.

"When did you decide you had the right to say things like that to me? What happened to you?"

"Life happened! You going AWOL happened. You're Raines' experiment, a brain-boosted little guinea pig. What should I call you; Wonder Woman?"

"You'll never understand. I had to go when I did. They left me no choice."

"So you left me chronic migraines and a peptic ulcer. Merry Christmas and happy birthday to you too."

"I'm not responsible for that."

"Oh? And who else have I been chasing all over the country for the last four years?"

"You weren't there those last few weeks. Watching the DSA's isn't being there. You can't know.... In spite of all Sydney tried I was finding I still had a conscience.... and morals. There were sims I wouldn't do because they refused to tell me what they'd be used for. The more sims I refused, the angrier they got. They finally resorted to.... to killing an innocent in front of me. Not just any innocent, either. They picked someone I cared about. I... I think they believed it would intimidate me into cooperating. All it did was infuriate me. I got so depressed. I stayed in bed, wouldn't do anything for them at all...."

"I know. I saw."

"No. You don't know. When will you get that? You'll never know and you'll never understand. I tried to take my life. Bet that's something they never told you. I never fought the doctors harder than the morning after that first attempt.... when they were just trying to keep me alive. If I hadn't left I would have kept trying until I succeeded. They couldn't have stopped me forever. Thanks to them I know every way there is to kill someone. The techniques work just as well on yourself. It came down to finding a way out.... or dying. A big part of my life there was about you. My leaving wasn't. Sorry to disillusion you."

"You're right. Sydney never gave me that bit of.... information."

"Didn't think so. Your father never told you why did he?"

"Why what?"

"Why you? They could have picked anyone from the Centre to help Sydney search for me."

"They thought since I knew you I'd be able to intuit your movements and get a step ahead."

"Hasn't worked."

"Not yet."

"And it never will."

"Why not?"

"You don't really know me anymore and intuition has nothing to do with anything."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said." Jarod replied, standing and pacing a close circle around her. "Why don't you sit down? You look exhausted and you're starting to limp on your left foot a little."

"I kicked the door. A lot. What did you do to your hand?"

"A minor accident."

Almost to the cot, Parker stopped, turned and stared at him, her expression clearly stating that she'd sit when he told the whole truth. "I put it through a window. Guess I haven't exorcised all the inner demons yet. Sometimes they grab the wheel, you know?"

Standing totally still, Jarod watched Parker lower herself to the bed, studying her as if she were a painting he'd once known every flaw and detail in, but which someone had vitally altered, and not for the better.

"Why do you always look at me like I stole a family heirloom or your brand new bike? Whatever it is you've lost, I don't have it. I never had it so get out of my face, Jarod!"

"Yes you do. That's not what I was thinking about though. You must have questions. Something you've always wanted to ask, but not where anyone could hear you."

"Only a million and one."

"Go ahead."

"Will you answer?"

"It depends. Ask."

"I've seen some of the overnight footage from the security cameras. You have some of the most intense nightmares... you seemed to be genuinely panicked. I've always wanted to know what they were about."

"Why?" Jarod challenged, unwilling to risk her scorn and ridicule without knowing her motivations.

"The tapes scared me. You not only talk in your sleep, you yell, scream and beg for mercy."

Feeling Parker hadn't put enough on her side of the scale yet to receive his pain in return, Jarod pushed her a little.

"You never cared before."

"How often have I been stuck in a room with you and nothing to do but gab before? Spill it."

Unimpressed with her attitude, Jarod dismissed the command.

"No."

"No? What do you mean no?"

"You don't really want to hear it. If there were a deck of cards in reach your question would've been "Old Maid or five card stud?" My so-called childhood isn't something I'm willing to discuss just because you're bored. Next question."

"So-called childhood? You had everything handed to you on a silver platter, you whiny little brat! Sydney gave you more attention in twenty-four hours than I got from my father in a year!"

"Is it my fault your father's a heartless bastard who only knows how to look out for himself?"

"You son of a..."

"Go on. Finish that cute little phrase if you really think I'm lying."

"He may be a bastard, but he's all I have."

"Wrong! You have memories. You have photographs and mirrors... you can look at those and know what you came from.... why you look the way you do. You're the one with everything."

Stung, Parker hesitated to answer Jarod, images of her mother's death assaulting her, underscored by the "truth" her father had drilled into her head since that horrible day.

"I... didn't take your memories from you. I'm not the one who shot you up with Styx-15, fed you drugged food or made you do simulations. I wasn't even there all that much after my... after Catherine died."

"Catherine. Is that what you call her now; as if she was never your mother, never meant a damn thing to you?"

"She betrayed the Centre, the husband who loved her.... and her child."

"Death isn't a betrayal, Missy. If she'd had time to finish her work, neither of us would be here right now."

"I asked you nicely not to call me that. Once more and I will tear you apart with my bare hands...."

"Catherine was never the betrayer and you know it. Your father betrayed all of us, every child in that vile place! He let them kill Catherine, he let you witness it then he took you away from me. I told you I knew a way out.... that I could find a safe place for both of us. You just walked away."

"Stop it, Jarod. Stop it now, or I swear...."

"Everything you ever told me was a lie, wasn't it? Were you daddy's little chess piece, even then? Did he send you in to keep me happy, make me believe I had something to live for beyond the sims and the torture and staring at the ceiling every night? Did he? You never cared. You never gave a damn about me. Every word was scripted, wasn't it? You emotionally seduced me then you drove a stake through my heart, all for a pat on the head and a puppy-biscuit from daddy..."

Though she still couldn't find the emotion behind it, Parker could no longer ignore the voices in her mind screaming for her to kill Jarod as quickly and brutally as she possibly could. When she rose off the bed, however, she immediately fell to her knees. Thinking, at first, that her injured foot had failed her, she quickly realized her mistake. Head spinning, vision doubling and tripling, she tried to get up, but found she barely had enough strength to drag most of her body back onto the mattress. Gazing at Jarod she saw that he was also feeling the effects of whatever had attacked her. The words he was speaking, however, stunned her.

"What.... Not.... not yet.... You were suppo.... supposed to wait... I... oh God, no..."

Stumbling toward the bed, weakened by the effects of a higher concentration of the same gas Macleod had used on the Lear from South Carolina, Jarod fell to his knees, panic and the chemical beginning to burn in the back of his throat as the betrayal of his misplaced trust seared his heart like acid. He slipped into unconsciousness just moments after Parker had, his upper body supported on the cot, fingers wrapped around her hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Yes. I do need it. I promised not to monitor their time together, so I have no idea how long he'll be in there. I might as well get some work done. The paper I'm writing on fourteenth century Athens is almost finished and my deadline is noon tomorrow."

"I thought you were in Turkey in the thirteen hundreds."

"Only part of the time. I traveled a lot. Go, will you please? As well as I cook you don't want me starting to mess around in the kitchen."

"Bloody right. Fine. If you screw up my game though, I'll personally run you through."

"You and bleeding Pac Man. You're gonna drive me bonkers with that thing."

As Macleod turned away to go in search of Methos' laptop, he felt a sting in his left shoulder and strong arms supporting his weight over to the sofa as a fast acting sedative dragged him down into darkness, Methos' face and voice the last clear memory he would have for the next four hours.

"I'm so sorry, Mac. I knew you'd really hate what I'm about to do. It's just easier this way. Sleep well, buddy. See you soon."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLUE COVE:

"Petey. Hey, sorry to wake you, guy, but we're here."

"Huh? Where?"

"At the abbey. C'mon. Time for you to get going."

Forcing himself awake, Broots lifted his weight away from Terri's supporting arm.

"Man. How long have I been asleep?"

"Only about twenty minutes. Sorry to have to get you up so soon, but..."

"No. It's okay. Thanks for, you know, lettin me...."

"Hey. Glad to be of service." she replied, starting to follow him out of the truck.

"Whoa. I don't think so. You stay here."

"What? You can't be serious."

"Totally. You aren't in costume and you're female. You'd stick out like Janet Reno in the Miss America contest. You stay. If you even think there's anyone suspicious comin' around, crank this puppy up and get out of dodge. Long as you've got your cell we can get a hold of you and let you know we're okay."

"Why do I get the feeling you've done this before?"

"All I can give you is Syd's old standby."

"Don't ask." they chorused together.

"Forget it. I won't leave you and Abe behind."

"Listen, Terri. You don't even want to contemplate how much worse it can get than just a couple burns on your neck. Do what I say, alright? If someone's snooping..."

"Take off. I get it. I don't like it all that much, but I'll do it."

"Good. Sydney and I will be back soon. Duck and cover, okay?"

After a swift embrace, the two separated and Broots followed Sydney into the abbey.

As they entered, Sydney heard voices raised in anger coming from the kitchen. Signaling to Broots that he was to stay there, Sydney moved quietly to the head of the stairs and peered down, immediately recognizing one or two of the sweepers haranguing the line of stoic monks seated on one of the long benches. The table it belonged with had been pushed to the far wall and heaped with equipment, weapons and the men's jackets. Cursing his luck and the Centre in the same breath, Sydney swiftly returned to where Broots waited.

"Stay quiet. The search teams are here. You head up to the isolation level. Michael and I will join you there as soon as we can." Sydney instructed, turning away.

Broots grabbed his arm, rejecting the idea.

"No way. You go. I go."

"I want you out of harms way."

"It's my decision. I'm going."

Suddenly Sydney understood how little credit he'd always given Broots and how strong the man actually was.

"Alright. But back into Brother Christian, right? Not a word."

"I get it, okay? Let's go."

As they descended the steps into the kitchen, both men bowing their heads to keep their faces well hidden, Broots stopped just inside the door as if he'd been told to wait there while Sydney continued toward the end of the bench where the abbot sat, his face a study in ire and frustration. Unfortunately, he was stopped before he could reach Michael.

"I didn't think they were all here. Takes more than twelve people to run a place this big. I guess you don't talk either." the man said, taunting him. "We've got a room full of stubborn people here, gentlemen. If we cut this one's tongue out, do you think it might encourage the others?" he laughed, tightly holding Sydney by one elbow.

Shaking his head, Sydney responded by reaching out and gripping the man who held him, just below where the man's wrist met his hand, and squeezing until the sweeper cried out in pain and released him. After sketching a quick bow he moved on, finding a small space to sit near Michael. Producing a pad and pencil the abbot wrote a swift note then passed them both to Sydney.

//We're all fine, except for James of course. They haven't hurt us. After that demonstration, I have to wonder if they'll even try. James may not last the night. The fever's running through him like a wildfire. Can't get it down far enough or fast enough to do any real good.//

Reading the note, Sydney tore it away and wrote one of his own, vaguely coding it in case it should be taken away.

//We're doing all we can, father. He's in God's hands now. Brother Freeman has hurt himself working in the roof garden. He sent Brother Christian and I to see if you could come to him.//

Nodding, Michael rose and managed a step or two before being halted. Sydney waited for Raines' soldier to decide to move. When it became obvious it wasn't happening, he repeated the maneuver he'd used on the first man, this time adding a quick twist that resulted in the sharp crack of breaking bone. He and the abbot walked out unmolested, collecting Broots on the way, and proceeded to the isolation floor, leaving the two sweepers to tend to their injuries.

Trying to stay aware of who was around them, to be absolutely sure they weren't followed, the three friends made it to the isolation level without being spotted or having their movements reported. When Sydney saw Lyle he instantly knew Michael's assessment had been correct; Lyle might not survive the next several hours and would not emerge undamaged if he did.

"He's in horrendous shape. When did the fever develop?"

"It was discovered this morning. It must have begun overnight."

Hearing Broots mumbling under his breath, Michael and Sydney both left the bedside and focused on him.

"What is it?"

"I did this. It's because I hit him on the head."

"No. Infections take advantage of opportunity, Chris...."

"Yeah, like the one I gave them."

"Broots, no...."

"Stop it, Syd. If he dies it's on my hands and my conscience, so don't you even dare try and tell me it isn't my fault."

When Sydney started to speak again, Michael stopped him.

"Can I try?"

"Of course."

"Chris. Do you believe in your heart that James is an evil man?"

"No. Not really. I think he's... damaged. His dad abused him as a kid."

"Did he do evil things?"

"Yeah, but...."

"Why did you feel it necessary to injure him?"

"To save Sydney's life."

"Which was in imminent danger?

"Yes."

Taking Broots by the shoulders, Michael smiled at him.

"Close your eyes. As this act was performed in defense of another's life, God deems you blameless for it and by his grace I absolve you of all guilt and shame. Te Absolvo, Christian." Michael intoned softly, signing the cross on the backs of Chris' hands and then on his forehead. Luckily for Broots, Sydney and Michael's reflexes were both in top shape, as his knees buckled the moment the abbot touched his face and the other two had to move swiftly to catch him before he hit the floor.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

Transferring Broots entirely into Sydney's hands, Michael ran out and returned a few minutes later with a cup of tea. After being helped to a nearby chair and given a moment to catch his breath, Broots' color returned and he seemed to regain his equilibrium.

"What happened?" Michael asked.

"I don't know. One minute you were talking to me and touching my hands, the next the bells started ringing so loud they drowned you out. I got really weak for a second... That's about it."

Looking to Sydney, Michael saw his own confusion mirrored there.

"We have no bells here, Chris. The closest we could come is a set of chimes in the music room downstairs."

"Real funny. Don't be jokin' with a fragile man, here. I heard bells. Okay, maybe not just bells. There could have been voices underneath all that noise but I wasn't really focused on gettin' everything out of the music... Why do you guys keep lookin' at each other so funny? You're scaring me, Syd."

"We don't mean to. It's just that... we weren't joking. There really is no bell system here at the abbey. The building is too small too support one and being in the center of town the complaints would be flooding in by the hundred pound bag."

"Then... what did I hear?"

When no response was forthcoming from either man, Broots groaned, threw his hands over his eyes and tried to shut out the world that seemed determined to keep his life on spin cycle, despite his constant pleas for the merry-go-round to stop.

Nearly as worried about Broots now as Sydney was, Michael smiled gently at him and patted his shoulder.

"There's a dormitory room just down the hall that's empty, Chris. Why don't you go and lay down? Some rest would do you a world of good right now."

"I wish I could. I don't dare, Syd. What if.... Well, you know what."

"If it happens again, send for me. I'll be there as fast as I can."

"All I want is to go back to your place, but we can't go near it as long as there's a chance the sweepers are still crawlin' all over the place. I'm so sorry, Syd. I lost you your house and all your things..."

"No, you didn't. Everything will be alright. You're safer here than you ever were at my house. Go and sleep. I promise I won't be far."

Wearily, Broots nodded his acceptance of Sydney's reassurances, rose and shuffled off to the dorm escorted by one of the resident monks. The moment he was out of earshot, Michael questioned Sydney.

"If what happens again?"

"The history behind it is too much to explain. He's developed a.... premonitory ability. It shows itself mostly when he sleeps, therefore...."

"Sleep is the last thing he wants. I see. When did this start?"

"Technically, five years ago. Actually, just a few days ago."

"I see what you meant by too much. He seems very close to the edge."

"No appetite, no sleep and a stratospheric stress level will do that, I'm afraid. I have a favor to ask, Michael. You're not in any way obligated, of course...."

"Go on. You know I'll do whatever I can."

"You always do. That's what makes you such a dear friend to me.... and now, I hope, to Chris too. His life is in danger because of this ability. I'm arranging to get him out of town now. Hopefully someone will be coming to get him, but until they can he's expressed a desire to stay with you and the others here at the abbey."

"In danger how? The Centre?"

"Isn't it always? Everything they touch becomes foul and contemptible, no matter how pure or uncorrupted it was at the start.... I'm trying to protect him as best I can, Michael, but it's only Terri and I right now and I'm terrified that the two of us just won't be enough...."

"You're not alone, Abe. You don't have to do this by yourself anymore."

"Yes. So I've been told. I'm finding it very hard to believe."

"I never could get you to give up bucking for Atlas' job in all the eight years you were here. I guess you're still in the running, hmm?"

"Somewhat. Look. Can he stay? I need to...."

"What you need is a break. Christian is under our protection now, Abe. By the look of your bloodshot eyes and the way your hands are shaking, I'd say you need sleep and good food as much as he does. Let the world go for a while, Abe. Let it roll off your shoulders and see to itself and you take care of you for once."

"You don't understand. There are things I have to do. Broots has a young daughter who's in as much danger as any of us if they get their hands on her. More. He'd never forgive me if...."

"We'll bring her here from school. Terri can stay too until the fire dies down out there."

"I can't ask that of you. I don't have the right."

"Of course you do. You were a part of us once, Abe. You'll always be a brother here and you'll always have the same privileges any of the others do, whether you live here or you don't. Now go get some sleep. I'm going down and see if I can hustle those black-suited minions of Satan out of this house of God."

Gazing at Michael critically, Sydney sat back slightly in his chair, indicating he was not quite ready to accede to what he perceived in the abbot's tone.

"I don't appreciate being patronized, Michael. I'm not a fourteen year old boy any longer and, as much as I might respect you, I'm not in awe of you the way I was when I first arrived here."

"I never said you were. You were never a child, Abe. You've been an adult all your life. When you left us you already knew more than some that had been here years and years."

"You said you wouldn't bring it up. You promised me."

"No. What I said is that I would never ask your reasons for going back to the world. I've never broken that promise. Your justifications are between you and the Lord. I still care about you, Abe. It doesn't matter to me whether I see you every other minute or once a year. I reserve the right to worry and pray and wish you'd made a different decision."

"There are times...."

"I expect so. Perhaps Christian isn't the only one who needs absolution."

"I made a choice, Michael. I allowed someone to cloud my eyes, to convince me there was something more important I could be doing, something more important than God and the vow I made to Him. Because of that choice I committed heinous acts of cruelty against both adults.... and innocent children. I've done things I would never dare to ask forgiveness or absolution for. I've been wondering just lately if He'd accept me back if I could find the courage to ask, but... I'm so terrified to hear the answer.... I haven't voiced the question. After the way I rejected Him... I don't really like my chances."

Rising, Sydney left the room before Michael could form a response.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER:

"Jarod. C'mon, boy. Time to wake up. I know it's hard but me talkin' to myself won't get us anywhere."

With a few gentle pats on the cheek and more verbal encouragement, Jarod reluctantly began to grope his way back to consciousness, though the headache that greeted his return made him wish the gas had killed him. "Atta-boy. Good. Keep comin'. You'll be back all the way in a minute or two."

The memory of his last few minutes with Parker abruptly renewed itself in Jarod's head, bringing barely controlled fury back with it. Seeing the knowledge flare in the younger man's eyes, Methos backed off several feet.

"Y.... you son of a bitch.... what have you done...." Jarod growled, struggling to rise and attack the man across from him, but stopped cold by the severity of his headache and a flush of lingering dizziness.

"First ground rule; no name calling. Calm down, son. I did this for you."

"Missy....."

"She's in the immersion cell, where she's supposed to be. You're where you need to be right now."

"I don't understand. What do you mean "ground rules"?"

"This is an intervention. All interventions have a set of rules to manage the behavior of everyone involved."

"Intervention... you're insane."

"Someone had to step in, Jarod. You and I are going to have a long talk about your behavior, your emotional state and whatever else we can get to in the five or so hours before Mac comes out from under the sedative I gave him. Oh, and, before you bother looking, I've got your jack-knife and your copy of the door remote. You'll get them back when we've straightened a few things out."

"My behavior...."

"Yes. You've got Macleod and I worried near to death. You're losing your grip, Jarod, just the slightest bit. I won't see you fall when I could have reached out and pulled you back. I've let it happen before and..... well, let's just say I don't deal well with failing my friends."

"I don't confide in people who betray me."

"How many times a month do you call him?"

"That's different and you know it. Sydney is the closest thing to a father that I had. He's the only one who understands..."

"Understands what? Who you are or who he wants you to be? Can you be more than his expectations, Jarod? Can you even see beyond them?"

"I already have. Look. My head is pounding. If you don't plan on letting me out of here then leave me alone and let me sleep this off."

"I can't. We are going to talk, Jarod, headache or no. Your silence is killing you just as sure as her rage is killing her. I can't let you cop out. She had no place to run in here and neither do you. Let's start with what happened upstairs in your room."

"I don't remember."

"Mac already told you the what. I want to know why."

"I'm fine. What do you expect to get out of persecuting me?"

"Yeah. You're peachy keen. That's what trying to throw the headphones through the wall was about, right? Emotionally healthy people put their fists through panes of glass and then block out the event. Happens all the time."

"I said I'll pay for the damage...."

"It's not about the wall or the headphones or the window, Jarod. This is about the damage done to you all those years ago and making a start on fixing that."

Jarod closed his eyes and gave the same response he'd given before to subtler attempts to put across the same message.

"You know I can't stop. Too many people need me."

"There are only two reasons any of us try to fix a fellow human being, Jarod. Either we're really okay within ourselves and we genuinely want to help others, or there's something inside us we think is beyond repair, so we go outside whatever situation we can't face and find someone to make better. While we're cleaning up their mess, we can avoid having to look at our own."

"Stop it.... please...."

"No can do. I won't let you keep on this path. I've been watching you for a few months now, hoping you'd pull out of this slow nosedive and I wouldn't have to intervene, but when you crunched your hand.... I knew it was time to do something."

When Jarod finally looked at him again, the terror and hopelessness he saw there nearly ripped Methos' heart in two.

"What do you think you can do that I haven't tried? I've read every book there is on individual recovery of repressed memory, self-hypnosis, self-therapy...."

"Aren't you seeing a pattern there?"

"I don't understand."

"Self, individual. As in all alone."

Striding to sit beside Jarod on the bed, Methos warmed his friend's cold right hand in between his own. "You've survived four years in the world alone, trying all by yourself to fix everything they broke. You don't have to do it anymore. I'm here now and you don't even have to ask for my help. I'm giving it willingly."

"If I could ask, don't you think... I don't have the right to drag anyone into my personal tar pit, Methos. What I do remember is horrific enough. How much worse must the rest of it be if my mind's trying to protect me from it by throwing up these.... brick walls I keep running into?"

"If you don't turn and face the demons that are chasing you down they will catch you and they will swallow you whole, alive and kicking. You've become one of my best mates. I won't lose you that way."

Turning from Methos, Jarod drew his knees to his chest, wrapping himself into a tight ball.

"I can't. There are too many and they're too strong."

"Haven't you been listening, son? Nothing's too strong for the two of us. I'm gonna stay right by your side, shoulder to shoulder. I would never abandon you in the darkness, Jarod. We go in together and we come out the other side the same way."

"The darkness is what I've been fighting all these years.... If I go in I'll never find a way out again. It's too hard..."

"Bull! Getting out of the Centre was hard. Going back and getting Kyle out before Raines could scramble his gray matter was a bloody miracle. You've done hard before, mate, and you did it all on your own mettle. You've got me now and I swear I won't leave you. If you ever trusted anyone, Jarod, trust me now."

Slowly, though it seemed to take forever, Jarod moved back around to face Methos, extending his injured hand only, as if implying that he knew how deeply his friend could hurt him and that he was placing that vulnerability before Methos, trusting him not to do any more harm than had already been done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly waking in the isolation cell Duncan and Methos had thrown together based on Jarod's fragmented memories of SL27, Parker raised her head slightly off the floor and was assaulted by the same pain Jarod had woken up to only a short time earlier. Gingerly lowering her head back down, she straightened her legs and looked around as best she could without causing the headache to spike.

The only light came from a small square several feet high in what she assumed must be the door, and was not sufficient for her to see much of her surroundings. Water dripped faintly in the background and muffled voices occasionally came and went, moving past the door and away. The floor beneath her felt like cement, but without being able to see it she couldn't be sure.

When her overwhelmed mind finally connected the sounds she was hearing to the images Macleod had dredged from the depths of her subconscious, she panicked utterly, pulling herself up to her knees and crawling frantically until she reached a wall. Her own harsh breathing only adding to her terror, she leaned into the wall trying to force the headache to back off and her racing heart to slow. To her dismay, the stress of trying to calm herself only worsened the pain until she retreated into the static once again. In a tiny corner of her mind the true Melissa Parker escaped a dismal and bitter world in sleep, leaving Missy to wake moments later, abruptly dropped back into a nightmare she'd thought long over and well buried.

As she had the first time circumstance and betrayal had left her alone in a small, dark, quiet room, she began to scream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLUE COVE:

Now that he had made the decision to go looking for Lyle and Molly on his own, Mister Parker was feeling more at peace than he had in many months. Staring at the drawer that contained his future and the future of his children, he leaned back in his desk chair and grinned, thoroughly pleased with himself. He had ensured that no matter what the leadership of the Centre might try, the three of them would always be safe.

Rising, he strolled to the couch and the replacement table that had been delivered only that morning and lifted the picture of Catherine, gazing at it with affection and a genuine sense of finally having done something she would have been proud of him for.

When the voice began whispering, he ignored it at first, thinking that perhaps someone was passing the office or that he had accidentally left the television on in the entertainment center and, distracted, closed the doors. When the sound grew louder, he raised his eyes from the framed photo, finally recognizing his name being called, squinting in irritation that a visitor or some important business would drop on his doorstep just then.

The vision before him stole his breath and sent him stumbling backwards, unable to credit what he was seeing with the reality it seemed to possess. Snagging his pant-leg on a corner of the new table, he crashed to the floor on his left hip, struggling for breath and fighting a sudden sharp pain that told him some damage had been done in the fall, but unable, despite everything, to tear his eyes away.

"Catherine.... Dear God... Catherine..."

It's time to rest now, Richard. You've worked so hard these last few years.... Time to rest, my love....

"Do you know, Catherine? Did you see? They're safe now.... both our children are safe...."

I know, Richard. I watch over them... and you.... time to rest, darling Richard... Rest....

As the vision of his late wife stretched out a hand to brush his cheek, Richard Parker reached to grasp her fingers and slipped into a darkness of his own making, his last coherent thought, that he had finally made Catherine happy, spiraling down with him into the abyss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Abe. Abe, wake up. There's trouble with a capital T."

"Michael? What is it?"

"Not here. I don't want to give Chris any more to worry about. What he doesn't know..." Michael whispered, waiting for Sydney to rise, then preceding him into the hall.

"Is something wrong?"

"You could say that. In a "God please don't desert me now" kind of way. Someone else just showed up. He seems to be in charge of the others. Actually they all seem terrified of him."

"Does he carry oxygen with him?"

"Yes. You know him then."

"I'm afraid so. It seems Satan has decided his minions need personal direction."

"He definitely gave off that vibration. The second he looked at me I wanted to start a prayer chant on the spot."

"I won't argue the point. We need to pull Terri inside and out of his rifle sights."

"Of course. Any thoughts about getting those demons and the head devil out of here?"

"No. I did, but.... Raines won't leave until he's personally satisfied himself that Chris and I aren't here. We'll have to wait him out."

"I suppose so. I'll send someone who's already up here to go out and get the young lady and hide the truck in the underground garage."

"Under.... when did you build that?"

"Later. Time for stories when we're all safe. Go back to sleep."

"No. I can't do that. Not now."

"Yes, you can. Nothing you can do but hide. Just in case."

"Knowing he's here.... I can't, Michael. Just... go get Terri, alright?"

"At least go sit and rest, you stubborn mule." Michael teased gently, smiling, but putting just enough concern in his voice that Sydney would know he meant it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't know, sir. Yes. I am the one who.... No, sir. Someone's been watching his office since Doctor Raines had to leave and Mister Parker.... Of course, sir. I.... Yes. I'll await your arrival."

In the ten minutes it took his superior to join him at the door to the office, the young security officer took himself to hell and back several times, contemplating all the things he knew could happen to him besides the loss of his job.

"The door is locked?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'd say plan B is in order, wouldn't you?"

"Sir?"

"Break it in."

"Yes. Of course, sir. Immediately."

When the door finally yielded, the head of the Centre was discovered lying on the floor next to his coffee table, still clutching the picture of his late wife, his eyes closed and a vague smile on his lips as if he found the memories floating past his mind's eye far more pleasant than anything the world could offer.

"I can't wake him. Get Dr. Raines back here ASAP. Tell him Mister Parker's gravely ill."

"Yes, sir. If he wants details?"

"Tell him the truth. You don't have any."

"Yes, sir." the officer responded crisply, producing a cell phone and dialing rapidly.

"Great. I should have seen this coming.... should have caught it before it got this far. I'll have to clean up his mess now, I suppose. I just hope it doesn't smell too bad." he mumbled to himself as he loosened the other man's tie and collar then moved to the desk to summon medical assistance. "Officer. You go wait downstairs for Dr. Raines. Contact me the moment he arrives."

"Yes, sir. You'll be in renewal wing?"

"Most likely, but I'll fill you in when you call."

"Right, sir."

The security officer turned smartly and headed for the elevators. His superior dropped wearily into Parker's former chair to wait for the medics to show up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tucked into a tight ball, Terri slouched below window level in the cab of her truck and forced herself awake for what seemed like the hundredth time. For the past thirty minutes she'd been see-sawing between the urge to let the growing warmth of the small space lull her to sleep and her concern for Sydney and Broots, which kept her from being able to even doze. Rubbing her eyes, she pushed out of her slumped position and was just beginning to stretch when a tap on the window behind her sent her head-first into the ceiling.

Broots' warnings about leaving immediately if anyone appeared interested in the truck sent her scrambling for the drivers seat and the keys that hung in the ignition switch. As she was about to turn the engine over, a lucky glance out the passenger's side window revealed that it was one of the abbey's residents that had scared her so badly. After a moment or two of watching him, she realized he was telling not to start the engine. Recovering her composure, she climbed out and met him at the front of the vehicle.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No, miss, but the men searching for your friends are in the abbey now and are being very persistent. They, and the abbot, fear for your safety as well. Abbot Michael asked that you come inside. Please, miss. We must hurry before we are discovered."

Shaking off her confusion, Terri quietly closed the driver's door of the truck and followed the monk through a concealed door in the back of the abbey and up a long narrow flight of stairs. Halfway up, her guide stopped and opened a small false panel in the wall, revealing a glowing keypad. He entered a series of numbers which opened a door leading left off the step on which they stood. Terri hesitated to follow him through, wishing her world would slow down and allow her comprehension to catch up.

"Please come, miss. Do you not wish to see your friends?"

This encouragement finally got Terri to join the young monk. He swiftly pushed the door closed and the stairway wall became a wall again, unrecognizable as anything else.

As Terri and her escort entered the isolation area where James lay, still mired in his fever-coma, Sydney strode to greet her and lead her away from the disturbing sight.

"Who is that, Abe?"

"Noone you need to worry about. Come sit down with me."

"But..."

"He's dying, Terri. If he does survive, there won't be much left that hasn't been consumed. He's nothing any of us need be concerned about any more." Sydney repeated, the clear note of satisfaction in his words surprising both Terri and Michael.

"I thought you were listening when I absolved Chris. James isn't evil. He's done evil things, but God has forgiven him. You do the same before there are no more chances."

Eyes lowered, Sydney drew and expelled several slow breaths, trying to find it within himself to follow Michael's advice, knowing the simple act would lighten the burden that so weighed down his heart, even if only a little or for a little while.

"I can't. Not yet. He's the reason Chris is here now, the reason that gentle sweet man has been forced to flee for his life. I've tried never to hate anyone, Michael, and I thought I'd succeeded.... before I met "James". I'm losing one of the best friends I have ever had because of.... that thing in the bed over there. I don't have the strength to forgive that easily. I'm not you, Michael. There are times I wish to God I was..... but I'm not."

Taking Terri's hand, Sydney led her toward the door, intending to show her where Broots slept and try to convince her to rest as well, but their exit was prevented by one of the brothers rushing in excitedly with a message for Michael.

"Seriously? Well, well. We'll take minor miracles where we find them and be grateful. One problem solved, Abe. The one in charge, Raines I think you called him, just got a telephone call and rushed out of here dragging that whole crew of fallen angels behind him."

As Michael turned back to thank and dismiss the messenger, a terrified scream from down the hall sent everyone in the room six inches into the air. Michael, Sydney and the brother ran for the dormitory, Terri hot on their heels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm sorry, sir. I should have known something was wrong. He was acting so strangely."

"No, Raines. What happened to Mister Parker was mostly his own fault. The Frankenstein's castle atmosphere of this place hasn't helped, I'm sure. I've seen this coming for a year or more. I could have intervened. I wanted to give him every chance to realize how ill he was."

"Jarod also bears some responsibility in his breakdown, sir."

His expression darkening, the man standing beside Dr. Raines leaned slightly forward, bracing his hands on the sill of the observation window to the room where Richard Parker lay, silent and unmoving.

"Indeed he does, doctor, and I'm going to see that he lives up to that.... and all his other obligations to the Centre. Yes. I do believe it's time for me to take an interest in our runaway genius. A very personal interest."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER:

"Jarod. This is me you're not talking to. Open up, just a little."

"I said I'd try. I didn't guarantee anything.'

"You're not trying. If you were making any effort at all I'd at least give you credit for that, but all I'm getting is evasions and non-answers."

"I don't open up, Methos. You know that. I've been.... betrayed too many times."

"You probably do see this that way. I saw two choices in front of me; force you into a few hours of honest, open talk, or keep watching and wait for you to implode. I picked number one as the lesser of the two evils. Try, Jarod. Stop being royally pissed off at me for a minute and just try."

"I'm not angry at you anymore."

"Oh. Moving right on to boldfaced lying now, are we? Damn, no wonder the two of you get on so heinously. You're so much alike it's scary."

"Only in your vivid imagination."

"Really? Let's see; you take all your pain and frustration and anger, bottle it and stuff it away somewhere, then you add and add to the bottle, ignoring how full it already is, 'till it explodes on the wrong person at the wrong time and you end up nearly killing somebody you only meant to pull a confession from. She gives all her pain and frustration and anger to an alter-ego that stays locked away in the back of her head, until she gets so mad, or it hurts so much, that the alter takes control so she can dump the sludge. Sound all that different to you?"

The expression on Jarod's face when he finally looked up told the ancient Immortal his campaign to crack the younger man's armor was finally working.

"I used to think so... but when I hear it phrased like that.... I don't know anymore...."

"You both went through things as kids no human being should ever have to try and survive. Your major obstacle now is realizing that you're still stuck in that abuse. You offered Molly her own way out, now take the one I'm offering you. Maybe by the time this is all over, you'll both be free."

"You'll never understand. I can't focus on myself when there are people who need what I can do.... what I can be for them....."

"That again. You're refusing to give up your pain because it's the motivation for the stings. No justified rage or unresolved crud from the past means no more being super-hero Jarod. Save the downtrodden and vanish into the night, leaving behind only the memory of your terribly selfless and courageous deeds."

"You're being cruel. You don't get it. You'll never get it."

"Cruel? Yeah, I suppose the truth can be cruel, sometimes. Doesn't mean it shouldn't be heard."

"Stop it. No more. Please.... just stop."

"One last question. If you can answer it honestly, I'll stop. Who are you more afraid of, just lately; Parker and the Centre..... or yourself?"

Watching Jarod carefully, Methos waited several minutes, but received no response.

"I know you understand, at least somewhat, how badly your control is slipping. You can't tell me you aren't totally, excruciatingly aware how close you are to flipping out and becoming everything you've been fighting against for four years. You can't use your pain that way anymore, Jarod. Every person you take down because of your rage and your sorrow gives those emotions more power. They're almost stronger than you are, now. Do you really want to let them become all you are, the way Parker has? That isn't you, mate. The world isn't that dark and cold a place for you. At least, I never thought it was."

"It isn't..... It wasn't...."

Head nearly between his knees, hands clamped over his eyes, Jarod began to feel moisture drop into his palms and fought mightily to control or suppress his tears.

Watching Jarod's shoulders heave as his efforts failed, Methos moved swiftly to sit beside his friend, wrapping a supportive arm around his back as he spoke soft words of encouragement.

"Let loose of this Jarod. For God's sake, let loose of this or it'll kill you. Quit fighting it. If it gets rid of this poison that's making you hurt yourself, then cry. Let it go just like you did the other night. Let it go...."

"I can't. Not again.... It was because you were.... you made me feel safe.... you wouldn't understand...."

"What don't I understand? Tell me."

"No... Just let me go. You can't help me. Noone can."

"I can if you'll give me a chance. Talk to me. Tell me this secret, Jarod. Let it out. Let it go."

As Jarod tried to pull away, somewhere among the words he mumbled, one reached Methos loud and clear.

"Leave? I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here with you."

"You will, just like he did...."

"He who, Jarod? Get this one out, son, and the rest will flow like water. Tell me who left you. Who did this to you?"

When Jarod's fight to be free of Methos' comforting words and touch suddenly increased in vehemence, Methos retreated, but refused to let the question go.

"Tell me. Who was so vile as to make you think your emotions were cause to be abandoned?

"I can't! Don't you understand that? I'll lose him...."

Suddenly, his intuition provided Methos the name he'd been trying to pull from Jarod, but he continued pushing, feeling that, to begin healing, the other had to say it himself.

"Tell me about it. Tell me why he left you alone."

"I already told Duncan."

"Now tell me."

"I was... very little. I was desperate for someone, anyone, to hold me, or.... pick me up and carry me. The more I tried.... the harder he pushed me away. Finally.... he just left. I didn't see him for a few days. By the time he came back.... I understood the rules."

Sweeping disordered hair away from Jarod's face, Methos gazed at him with deep concern.

"You must have been terrified."

"No. Not really."

"How did his rejection make you feel, then?"

"It wasn't a rejection. He was doing what he had to do...."

"Of course it was a rejection. The fact that he was under orders makes his actions no less reprehensible. Tell me how it made you feel."

"Don't say that. They were always using Raines as a sword of Damocles.... hanging it over his head. He had to obey...."

"How well have you really watched those DSA's? He loved what he was doing. You can see it in every frame, every expression on his face."

"No! You're wrong! Sydney loved me.... he still loves me....."

Taking Jarod's face in both hands, just as he had the night in the chair, Methos forced the young man to look directly into his eyes.

"Sydney allowed you to be injected with a drug that altered your brain forever. Sydney put science and research above any questions he had about your origins. Sydney took a vulnerable child and tried to strip his emotions and morals so he'd have the perfect little robot to do his filthy experiments. Sydney ignored the truth, even when it came from the brother that he loved. Sydney knew Jacob and Catherine's concerns about the project were legitimate and he chose to ignore them.
Sydney allowed you to be hurt, and infected and tortured, all in the name of his precious project. That's not love, Jarod. That's enlightened self-interest. Stop defending his actions, when you know there is no defense for them. No more punishing yourself for things you did under his control. No more hurting others because you think you don't have the right to be mad at him. No more. Cry. I won't leave you. I won't leave you."

Weeping freely now, Jarod collapsed into the circle of Methos' arms. Methos welcomed him, shedding streams of his own tears as Jarod sobbed out the worst of what had been burning him alive from the inside out for most of his adult life. For the most part, Methos stayed quiet, letting the young man purge himself, responding only when it seemed warranted.

Nearly an hour later, with Jarod finally calm and sleeping the sleep of the emotionally exhausted on the cot next to him, Methos responded to his handy-talkie, which was beeping softly in his pocket. Knowing it had to be Macleod, he hesitated before silencing and retrieving the device, finally deciding to answer the summons in person, despite what he was certain Mac would do to him once freed. Rising gingerly from the cot, so as not to disturb Jarod, Methos exited the room, leaving the door open.

"Mac. Keep your voice down. I left the door open back there and the boy's asleep. I want it to stay that way."

Raising his head slightly and fixing his best friend with a look that could have liquefied glass, Macleod growled a command and maintained the stare until it was carried out.

"Untie. The ropes. Now. "

"When you promise to keep that legendary Scottish temper of yours in check. This was my doing. No sense disturbing Jarod, now is there?"

"What have you done?"

"He's fine. Matter of fact he's a lot better now than he was three hours ago. We talked. He got rid of a lot of the nastier stuff he's been hoarding for a long time. I don't think we have to worry so much about him anymore. You should have been out for another two hours yourself. What happened?"

"She did." Macleod told him, nodding toward the monitor. "When she started screaming I came to. Something's gone wrong."

"What makes you say that? She seems calm enough."

"Now. It was the screams. Before my eyes cleared enough to see her.... I would have sworn it was a child being slaughtered."

"Nothing we can do now. The audio from the DSA should be well underway. This is no time to stop. It's up to her now." Methos reasoned, feeling Mac had calmed enough to risk untying him.

Sitting up slowly, Macleod stared down Methos again while shaking out the numbness in his fingers and arms.

"When this is through, and she's on her way home...."

"I know. I wasn't about to try to weasel out. I'll take my punishment like a man. I am sorry. I just felt Jarod couldn't wait any longer and I knew you wouldn't approve...."

"I understand. Doesn't get you off the hook for what you did to me.... but I promise to take mitigating circumstances into account. If he turns out alright, that is."

"He's fine, I told you. Much improved anyway."

"And you?" Macleod asked, finally noticing the red tinge to Methos' eyes and the subtle way he tried to keep his face turned just enough so Duncan couldn't quite get a good look.

"I'm okay too. Some of the stuff he told me.... I hadn't heard before. It got to me a little. Listen. I'm going up to my room for a while. Give a yell on the talkie when the kid wakes up or it's time to finish this thing off."

"You understand I'm taking that over."

"Yeah. After.... you deserve it. You've gone over the script and all?"

"Before you shot me up, luckily."

"Good. I'll see you soon, then." Methos said quietly as he headed for the staircase. When Macleod called him by the name they only used between the two of them, the one noone else even knew about, he halted, turned and walked back to his friend for a brief embrace.

"Mon frère. Vous êtes vraiment bien?" (My brother. Are you really alright?)

"Oui. Je suis. (Yes. I am.) I will be, anyway. I need some space, okay?"

"Yeah. Keep your talkie on. It might not be too long before either situation comes to a head."

"Will do." Methos assured him and began to climb the stairs again, a choice few of the horrors that Jarod had poured out to him still swirling menacingly in his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLUE COVE:

"Petey? It's alright. You're alright, now. Take it easy, okay?"

"Terri? Oh, man. Did they come after you? How come you're in here? What happened..."

"Petey. Chill for a minute, will ya? With all those goons running around downstairs, Abe and Abbot Michael thought I'd be safer in the abbey than outside in the truck. I'm okay."

"Thank God. I'm really sorry for scarin' everybody like that. I just can't help it...."

Perching on the edge of the bed, Terri drew Chris close to her, trying to calm him while Sydney laid two fingers along his wrist to gauge his pulse.

"We understand. Noone's angry at you. We know it's not your fault. Try and relax."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have Fellini meets Freddy Kreuger running in your head every time you go to sleep."

"Listen to me, Broots. Your pulse is much too fast. It should have slowed by now. You must try to settle down. The tremendous stress you've been under will adversely affect how fast your immune system is able to respond to threats such as injury or infection and you can't afford to become ill at this point."

"You're sayin' my back will heal slower.... stuff like that?"

"Precisely."

"Then help me, Syd. You said you could at least show me how to.... I don't know, understand what I'm seeing... so it won't scare me so much. You can, right?"

Dropping onto the opposite side of the bed from Terri, Sydney sighed softly, then responded.

"So much has happened since then, Chris. We don't have the time anymore for me to even make a start on what you need to know, and what happened at the house..... that adds a whole new dimension to the problem."

"That wasn't my fault! You said so in the truck! I wasn't even thinkin' about doin' anything, never mind...."

"I know, Petey. I know. It wasn't your fault. Hush, now. Calm down." Terri murmured soothingly.

"I didn't mean.... I'm sorry, Chris. Jarod e-mailed back to me. He's agreed to try and help you. He's looking forward to seeing you again. He claims to know two friends who can give you all the help you need. You must hold on until you get to Jarod. Everything will be alright then....."

Pushing aside his weariness, Sydney produced his best version of a bright smile and tried to lighten the oppressive atmosphere. "There is good news. The sweeper teams have gone. We can all go down and eat in the kitchen. Full stomachs will cheer us all up."

"Boy, do I agree with that!" Terri enthused. "You up for something to munch on, Petey?"

"Yeah. Syd is right. I have to stay healthy. Food is in the plan even if I'm not in the mood, I guess. Yeah. I'm up for it."

"Alright. Lead the way, Abbot."

"Christian knows the way. Abe and I will meet you down there in a few minutes. You go ahead. We won't be too far behind."

As the others left, Sydney settled for only giving the abbot a confused glance, waiting until they were alone before asking what was up.

"What's this all about, Michael?"

"You're holding out on Chris and me."

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"You've got his escape plan all set up. What about yours? You can't exactly stick around either."

Turning away a little, Sydney considered the question for several minutes before finally being able to accept that he had only one real option.

"You're wrong, Michael. That's all I can do. Someone has to make sure the Centre's focus remains here in Blue Cove, on me...... or Broots might not make it out safely. That's what matters. Besides, this all started with me, really. I was the one who put.... James in that bed. I was the one who gave Chris the painkiller that activated the chemical cocktail that's causing all his problems..."

Striding to Sydney's side, Michael tried his best to talk him out of what he was thinking of, but was unable to sway him even the tiniest bit.

"You're going to have to tell Chris."

"No. It's better if he never knows. In the event that the worst case scenario comes to pass...."

"He has a right to know, Abe. If they do.... do that, it would be the ultimate cruelty to allow him to live his life thinking you're alright and living yours."

After another few minutes of contemplation, Sydney acceded to Michael's logic.

"I suppose.... After he eats. I won't give him one more cause to claim his appetite's been ruined."

"Fine. As long as you tell him."

"I will. Terri too. We've been close over the past few years.... she deserves to know as well. Just in case."

"Just in case you're hungry... what say we go down and eat? They'll be wondering where we are."

Michael leading slightly, the two friends made their way down to the kitchen to join Terri and Broots.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I can't explain it any better, Chris and I don't expect you to understand."

"Understand?! What am I supposed to understand? We've been running for our lives for days and now you tell me you're gonna willingly walk back into that.... that snake pit... when you know damn well they'll be waitin' on you? I'll never understand that, Syd. Never."

"If I go back on my own, instead of being dragged back, my pleas of ignorance will carry far more weight with the Tower. Besides, I can only change things from the inside. We agree on that point, at least, don't we?"

His expression contorting with the effort of repressing the anger he didn't feel right showing Sydney, Broots simply stared down his friend and former boss and spoke the truth that was hurting him so badly.

"They'll kill you. You know that."

"Perhaps, but this is my decision. If you don't make it out of Blue Cove soon, you won't make it at all. I can't allow that to happen."

"And if my decision is to stay and defend you?"

"Unacceptable. My death would be a sacrifice. Yours would be a pointless tragedy. Don't you see that you're the one with everything to lose? If I die.... it will at least be for a purpose, and knowing even one person will mourn me..... I won't be afraid."

"Syd....."

"Broots..... Christian. Things are the way they are supposed to be. I don't regret any of what I've done in the past few days, but I must still face the consequences and try to come out the other side in one piece. That's my job for the next little while. Yours is to forget the Centre ever existed. Go live your life, raise your beautiful daughter and try to serve God the best way you can. I have to go talk to Michael for a short while. I'll see you again before I leave, I promise. Will you be alright?"

"No.... but give me a year or two.... and maybe." Chris tossed back, a wan smile on lips. "You'll be in my prayers every day, Sydney. I swear I won't miss one." he vowed, rising and pulling Sydney into a strong embrace.

"That's good to know, seeing as I have noone else to intercede for me." Sydney chuckled as they parted.

"Of course you do, Syd. Jacob, Catherine, your parents. They're all your guardian angels. You've had more souls pullin' for you all along than you ever knew."

"Hmmm. I hope you're right. I'll need some extra protection in the next few days. Where will you be when I'm finished with Michael?"

"In the library probably. They've got so many books in there.... I wanna try and read at least half of them before I go."

"Excellent choice. I'll see you there in... two hours let's say?"

"Two hours."

The friends parted then, Sydney moving back into the kitchen and up the stairs, Broots reassurances stripping away some of the intense fear he harbored about meeting his death at the Centre.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SEACOUVER:

As the sun slid below the horizon somewhere beyond the confines of her dark prison, Missy finally calmed enough, and felt secure enough, to step back into the recesses of Melissa Parker's mind and let Miss Parker wake.

Reacquainting herself with her surroundings, she focused in on voices that seemed to be emanating from all around her, straining to make out the words even while a very young, and still very frightened, part of her, tried to warn her to close her ears.

As the audio grew louder, she began to be able to make out isolated words, followed swiftly by the stunning revelation that she was listening to a long ago conversation between Raines and her parents. The evident fury in her mother's voice was something she'd never heard, a face Catherine had never allowed her child to see, and the strangeness of it brought stinging tears to Parkers' eyes.

Minutes passed and the recording looped back to the beginning, once again increasing slightly in volume, bringing with it a second revelation that slammed the breath from her as if the floor had dropped from beneath her and she'd suddenly found herself in freefall; the conversation was about her. Raines had apparently convinced the Triumvirate to train her as a Pretender and her father had not only taken their position over the objections of the woman he claimed to love more than life itself, but, in his eagerness to show his loyalty, he had been willing to throw his only child into a bottomless pit, into hell if necessary, if it would secure his place at the Centre.

Her focus having wandered slightly, Parker tuned back in to the voices and was startled when her own happy, eight-year old lilt reached her ears. Before she had time to consider what that meant, her father's next few words, Raines' gleeful reply and the brutal sounds that followed blasted Melissa back into the tiny corner of her mind where she ran to hide when things in her world became too dark, too confusing, or simply too real.

Having absorbed, second-hand, the sounds and Melissa's comprehension of them, Missy too hid away, eyes closed tightly, terrified to face the world of her worst nightmares that she firmly believed would greet her were she to open them; a slowly closing elevator door that traps her with a beloved mother who is forever beyond her touch.

Both aspects of Melissa Parker turned their faces away from the darkness of the cell and the horror of the words and sounds engulfing them, and slipped away to cower in a darkness deeper than either had ever known.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"She's too quiet. It's time to end this." Macleod announced to noone, his expression dark with concern as he grabbed his handy-talkie to alert Methos, hesitating when Jarod spoke from behind him. "Hullo. Good Lord, you look like ten miles of torn up railroad track."

"Pretty close to how I feel. Is Methos.... here?"

"No. He's upstairs catching a nap. I was just about to...."

"Don't. I'm not.... I need more time before I'm ready to talk to him. I heard what you said. You were going to bring her out?"

"Yeah, but if you feel like you need to do it, I'll back off. No questions asked."

"Thanks."

"You know the words and all, then?"

"Of course. If he comes down before she and I...."

"I won't let him leave. I promise you that."

"No. He can go if he wants. Just don't tell him.... don't tell him anything, okay? Let it be between him and me."

"If that's the way you want it."

"It is."

"Jarod, wait. Please." Methos called after him as he hurried down the stairs.

"I have to do this now, Methos. I'm sorry.... you'll have to wait."

"Jarod.... just tell me.... we're okay."

After only a few moments, which stretched into eons for the man waiting at the foot of the stairs, Jarod replied and surgically, though unintentionally, cleaved in two the heart Methos had so recently stowed in the younger man's back pocket.

"No. Not at the moment. I don't know how long this will take so you two should go ahead and have dinner. I'll buzz your walkies when I'm done."

Seeing Methos wasn't ready to surrender yet, Duncan held him back from following Jarod as the other walked away. Speaking close to his friend's ear he tried his best to reassure him, wrapping one arm around his chest from behind to gently keep him in place.

"Stop it. He'll work it through and decide for himself what he wants to do, but it's got to be up to him."

"I did it for him.... I was trying to help... to save him...."

"I know and so does he, somewhere inside. Give him time. There's no other way to play the hand."

"Yeah. Damn it. If he leaves.... what am I supposed to do with this sucking chest wound where my heart was?"

"You're over dramatizing, as usual." Duncan teased him, lightly shoving Methos' head forward in a brotherly show of affection before moving away toward the kitchen "He was right, you know? Let's go whip up something spectacular.... for us and them."

Brightening a little, Methos turned and followed.

"Yeah. How do steaks on the grill and potatoes Lyonnaise sound?"

"Good for a start, but she'll need more protein, carbs and calories than that."

"Shall I start pasta as well, then, while you fire up the grill?"

"Absolutely...." he agreed, turning back as the e-mail alert on Jarod's laptop announced a new message. "Go ahead. I'll be right with you." he told Methos, jogging over to the couch where the computer sat.

Jarod,
I understand that I'm very likely the last person you want to hear from right now, but within a few days, I may not be here for you any longer and there are things that I must say.
I wanted to thank you for agreeing to help Christian. Whatever your reasons, just know that we're both grateful. All I ask is that, until he's ready to move to the abbey there, you protect him with all of your resources. The Centre thinks he's dead. If they were ever to find out he isn't, he'd be as much of a fugitive as you are. Please safeguard him, and be kind to him.
If I survive, I will be trying to effect positive changes from within the Centre. I know that will be hard for you to believe, but please try. That would be all I could want right now.

My deepest gratitude and respect to all of you,

Sydney Abelard

Opening the attached file where he'd stored the previous messages he'd answered as Jarod, Duncan assured himself they were all still saved, then returned to Sydney's latest missive. After reading through the brief note a second time, he almost deleted all the messages the so-called doctor had sent, stopping himself with the thought that if the man were killed, the letters would be his final goodbye to Jarod and, as a friend, he had no right to destroy them.

Against his better judgment, he saved the new message in the file with the others, shut down the e-mail program and the computer and headed out to start the grill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 3/Chapter 5


"Angel? Angel, where are you, baby? Are you alright? Come out where daddy can see you, Angel."

Cautiously entering the immersion cell, Jarod tuned one ear to his surroundings to be sure the audio from the DSA had cut out as it was supposed to, then refocused all of his attention on Parker and the lines Methos and Duncan had composed for the use of whoever ended up in the cell at the end, trying to reassure Parker back to life without destroying the illusion they'd created, at least not immediately.

"It's alright, Molly. Daddy's here, now. It's time to go home." he told her softly, moving with extreme slowness to allow his eyes to adjust and to avoid terrifying her. His deep concern for her ultimate welfare made the pace he had to maintain agonizing for him. When his eyes finally allowed him to perceive her shape huddled in a far corner, he resumed the scripted lines. "Angel? Come to daddy, angel. No more of this.... horrid place. I fixed everything. Come here, sweetheart. Come to daddy. It's alright."

Hating the pain he'd put her through, despite knowing there was really no other way she would ever have seen reason, Jarod stuck with the plan and made the same move the three men had concluded her father probably made all those years ago. Turning, he started out of the cell, then rushed back to her and swept her into his arms. When she didn't react immediately, he almost broke with the script, but caught himself in time and forced himself to be patient, whispering into her ear and rocking her slowly.

"Angel. C'mon, angel. Talk to your daddy. Please. Just talk to me. Please, sweetheart. Please, angel. You're alright, daddy's angel. That's what my little Molly is. Daddy's sweet, precious angel...."

Jarod continued in this vein for another thirty minutes, finding he didn't have to fake any of the emotion behind his words, until she began to stir in his arms, at which point he pulled her to him a little tighter, knowing what was coming. "That's my girl. Daddy's here, angel. Look at me, baby. Look at daddy, baby...."

The battle, when it came, began suddenly and Jarod nearly lost it before he started, forgetting that he held a powerful, fully grown woman and not merely a frightened child.

Enduring solid blows to his arms and face and the continual echoes of 'I hate you, daddy' and 'you let her die, you let her die', Jarod began to speak the two phrases Methos hoped would now restore whatever memory the Centre, and her father, had stolen from her. He repeated them over and over, until her struggles weakened and he began to believe she was hearing his words.

"The walls have fallen, it's time to remember. The walls have fallen; it's time to remember. The walls have fallen, it's time to remember...."

Gradually, with effort and an expression that clearly revealed the scars on her soul, Parker looked up at Jarod through her own eyes.

"No... why did you do this to me...."

"Shhh. You're okay now. Relax."

As Methos had done for him twice before, Jarod now held Parker. With no more secrets to search for, with so many hidden horrors no longer locked away, she sought frantically for words to express her anguish, but could find none. She cried soundlessly, head buried deeply in Jarod's shoulder, until she had purged all she could for that moment in time and slowly pulled away, strong enough now to sit up on her own without his support, but not spurning the arm he left wrapped around her back.

"If you want to try and talk now..."

"No. Not now, maybe not ever. Just.... help me out of here. This foot.... I don't know if..."

"It's okay. I understand." he reassured her, slipping his arm away from her back, standing and moving in front of her. Crossing his hands one over the other, he offered them to her. She grasped them tightly and together they managed to get her into a standing position. For the next few moments, she leaned on the wall, while he switched from being a crane to being a crutch. "Okay. Lean on me as much as you need to, alright? Here we go."

Moving slowly, in deference to Parker's sore muscles, unsure balance and darkness adjusted eyesight, Jarod walked her into the living room and lowered her gently into a chair while he moved to the kitchen to find the other two.

"Methos? Duncan? Are you out here?"

Hearing their names, the two Immortals strolled in from the backyard.

"What's up?"

"How is she?"

"She's... emotionally, she's better. I left her in the living room. How's dinner coming? It smells fantastic."

"Alone?! You just.... left her in there.... alone?!?"

"I'm not stealing the DVD player for God's sake." Parker announced from the doorway behind Jarod as she limped/hopped a step into the kitchen. "I'm not running away, either. Not just yet, anyway. That does smell good. Steaks?"

"I told you to stay there and I'd come get you. You shouldn't be putting any weight on that foot."

"Yeah. Well, in case you haven't noticed, obeying isn't something I do well. I could smell the food all the way out there."

"And you're ravenous. You have a right to be." Methos said, striding purposefully forward and sweeping Parker into his arms and over to one of the chairs at the table before she could think, never mind protest. "Which foot?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want dinner or not?" he asked her, a hint of a smile creeping over his lips.

"After those disgusting soy shakes? Damn right I want dinner." she replied, grimly pushing down the pain.

"Well? Which foot?"

"Left."

Heel first, Methos slid both of Parker's shoes off with extreme gentleness and care and began to examine the left instep.

"So. What happened?"

"I kicked the door a few times."

"A few. What's a few?"

"Twenty. Thirty. Who was coun-owwww!"

"Sorry. Checking for broken bones."

"And?"

"About twenty or thirty. One for each kick. Swelling, bruising. You've mucked it up well enough."

"Great. How long before it's back to normal?"

"Six, maybe eight weeks. These tiny bones almost never heal perfectly, though. You'll probably always have to be easy on it. Might limp a little if you push too hard. Look. I'm really sorry...."

"Don't. I'm the one who kicked the idiot door. I'll deal with the consequences of being an idiot. Besides. What you gave me... the foot is more than worth it."

"I can ace-bandage this, but you'll have to get a cast put on at first opportunity. Yes?"

"I understand."

Distinctly uncomfortable and more than a little worried that Parker was still in a mood to disembowel him, Duncan grabbed a platter and began to slide toward the door to the back patio to get the steaks. When she called to him over her shoulder he stopped, grinning broadly, his fears erased by the obvious amusement in her voice.

"Hey, tall dark and arrogant."

"Yes, deep, dark and dangerous?"

"Mine are rare, right?"

"Of course. What else?" he laughed as he exited the room.

"Do you want to do the bandage now, or after dinner?"

"You will stay in this chair for a while I assume? No more gallivanting off when someone tells you to stay put?"

"I don't guarantee anything..... but it's more than likely."

"Then a couple pain reliever should hold you until you can get some food in you."

"I don't guarantee that either."

"We can hope. Try two pills. If you need more, speak up and I'll get you something stronger, but that stomach of yours needs a delicate touch when it comes to meds, darlin'."

Vaguely, Parker considered throwing out a sharp retort about knowing perfectly well what her body needed, but Jarod distracted her. She watched him retrieve salad ingredients from the refrigerator, line them up neatly on the counter, then replace each in its proper spot after he was finished with it. The palpable tension flowing off his body was, she strongly suspected, somehow related to her, and the cause, whatever it might be, would have to be dealt with before it built a barrier between them that neither would be able to breach.

"Jarod. Come sit down by me."

"I'm not finished."

"Now. Please."

"No. We all need to eat right now. Whatever it is, it will wait."

As Methos was walking toward the counter to try and talk Jarod into stopping and getting the problem off his chest, Duncan re-entered with the steaks, the oven timer announced the ready state of Methos' famous garlic-chive bread sticks and any serious discussions were put on hold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I thought you'd be happy. As far as I was concerned you guys had as much chance of turning my head around as you would of spitting on Raines and living, but you did it, Jarod. I know the truth about my father.... about a lot of things, and it was truth I had a right to know. Derail the Jarod guilt express, would you?"

"You have to understand.... it's not all about this week. Part of me still believes if I'd made you go that night... if I'd gone with you...."

"Stop it, Jarod. Just stop, okay? I was thirteen. I would never have abandoned the only parent I had left, and you know that."

Walking up behind him, Methos reached out and tentatively laid an easy hand on Jarod's shoulder.

"Suffering in the name of a right cause, remember? She'll be alright, son."

When Jarod slowly removed the older man's hand and, without speaking, rose and began to gather dishes and silver for washing, Methos smiled tightly and tried to look as if he understood, though anyone who truly knew him could have easily read the truth in his eyes, as Duncan did when he emerged from the fridge with a fresh beer and wandered back to the table.

"Patience, remember? In time, you two will be as close as you ever were." Duncan reminded his best friend quietly, though he knew the words were falling on deaf ears.

"I'll gonna... head to bed I guess. Take the boots off before you come up, tonight, Highlander. You woke me up clodhopping upstairs in those monstrosities last evening."

For the briefest of moments, Duncan wanted to chase after him, drag him back and force him and Jarod to settle the matter, but immediately thought better of it and let him go.

"Jarod. You know how you asked me to answer your e-mail for you so you wouldn't have to deal with it until this whole thing was resolved? I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"What kind of man is Chris Broots? No kindnesses, no flowery praise. I need it straight up. What kind of person is he really?"

Surprised, Jarod halted in the middle of rinsing a plate, laid it down and turned to face Duncan.

"He's a good man. He loves his daughter more than his own life. He's strong.... and courageous. He can still trust despite all the years he's spent at the Centre. I think I could like him if we ever got to spend time together without Centre interference."

"Okay. That's enough of a testimonial for me."

"I'm glad, but what's all this about, Duncan?"

"Yes. I'd like to know too." Parker interjected, concern clouding her features. "Is he alright?"

"Not precisely. I got a message from your Sydney a day or two ago. It seems that, thanks to the Centre, Mister Broots has developed some.... bizarre abilities that would make him a prime target if his employers could get their hands on him. He's quite disturbed by whatever it is he can do and he needs a few weeks and a competent therapist, or pair of them, to help him cope. Sydney has asked that someone come out to Maryland, pick up your friend and get him someplace safe. I had volunteered Methos and myself. If you'd had anything negative to say I would have cried off, but since you didn't, I guess it's on."

"He deserves all the help we can give him. Is he safe for now?"

"Sounds like it. He's in hiding in a small monastery right in the middle of Blue Cove. The Centre thinks he's dead."

"Right under their noses. Very nice, Sydney." Parker mused. "When are you going?"

"In a few days. He should be well protected till then."

"Good. I should be ready to travel when you are." she murmured, trying to stand before she remembered she had a broken foot. "Damn!" she swore, quickly sitting again.

"Ready? You can't even walk on your own right now."

"Maybe, but I have enough credit cards to hire ten drivers for my gorgeous new convertible, never mind go to a drug store and buy a pair of crutches... and you need a distraction to keep all those microscopic Centre minds occupied."

"True enough. You sure you're willing to be that? It could get sticky."

"More than. Jarod. Can I get a shoulder to help me upstairs?"

"Of course. Always."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, Parker and Jarod sat together on the window-seat in the bedroom she'd chosen, she in the penoir set and robe she'd woken up in the first morning, he still in the clothes he'd worn to dinner. Off and on they talked quietly, but, for the most part, they allowed the silence to swallow them, finding no need to disturb it. When Jarod finally spoke up after a stretch of nearly forty minutes, it startled Parker slightly and she jumped, chuckling softly at herself.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean...."

"It's okay. I know. What were you saying?"

"Nothing, really. I.... just wondered what you were thinking. You looked so sad, as if you couldn't find space inside for all the pain, but you were trying not to let it out either."

"That doesn't even half cover it." she responded bitterly. "Broots is in deep. If he doesn't get out of there soon, they'll find him, drag him back to the Centre.... and dissect him. I can finally accept what a.... manipulative, double-dealing con man my father really is. Sad? Sad is the least I have every right to be. You didn't look so zippedee-doo-dah yourself in the kitchen after dinner. What's up between you and.... what was it you called him?"

"Methos. He goes by Adam most of the time."

"Yeah. Adam. That's the name he gave me when he brought me here in the limo. So? What happened? Weren't you two best buddies?"

"Try and remember when I came to see you in the Pretender cubicle a day or two ago. Picture what was going on in the minutes just before you passed out."

"Damn. That's right! You were fading out too. You said... something strange. It made me wonder.... You knew it was going to happen, didn't you? Of course you did. This was your project from the start. So how did it get messed up?"

"It didn't. Methos pushed up the schedule. When he put you in the other cell.... he came back, locked the door, took my copy of the remote.... and just waited for me to wake up."

"You can't be serious."

Slowly, Jarod nodded his head.

"He did the same thing to me that we've been putting you through, in a greatly scaled down version, of course. I... when I put this hand through the window.... I had no clue why. I wasn't even aware of what I'd done." Jarod told her, staring down at his bandaged left hand and rubbing it absently as he talked. "I didn't know why I've been getting so angry lately, why I couldn't control it when I did.... He showed me why. I cried like a baby... told him things I've never told anyone, things I didn't even know I knew.... I understand, now. A lot of things are so much clearer...."

Reaching out, Parker laid her hands over his, caught, and held, his eyes and spoke the name he couldn't.

"Sydney?"

Her insight caught him a little by surprise. He sat an inch or two straighter, then, after a moment, gave her a genuine smile. "You want to hear something else you don't know? He hates himself for all of it. All the years of your life he wasted, all the pain you went through...Once he knew the truth, he couldn't help but despise what they turned him into. His brother, my mother, your family.... we've all lost precious people and time to that place, Jarod. We all have a score to settle.... but that will probably never happen."

"I'm not interested in revenge much, anymore. Besides, it's too late. The damage is done. He can regret whatever he wants for as long as he cares to. It won't change anything."

"Then we have to change. Listen." she stated muzzily, shaking herself when she realized she was much wearier than she'd been even a few minutes before. "Can I ask your opinion on something?"

"Of course. Go on."

"What do I do with all the.... memories, now? I'm not used to all this being in my head." she told him, covering an immense yawn.

"Use them. Cherish having more of Catherine to remember. That's enough for tonight. It's time for you to get some sleep. Let me help you over to the bed."

"No. I want to talk."

"Sleep. You need sleep. Let's go." he scolded her, lifting her to her feet and draping one of her arms over his shoulder.

"With all this running around in my brain, I'll never get any rest. Look. I'm a grown woman. I don't have to go to bed if I don't damn well want to!" she fussed as he moved her inexorably toward the bed in the middle of the room.

"Maybe you will, maybe you won't. At least give it a shot...."

Abruptly Parker's face drained of all color and she began gasping for breath. Pulling away from Jarod's support, she tried to escape the room entirely and immediately fell to the floor. When Jarod rushed to try and comfort her, she lashed out at him for several seconds, mumbling incoherently and weeping as if she were in fear of her life. Despite her nails flashing only inches from his face, Jarod lifted her bodily onto the bed and sat close to her, trying anything to bring her down.

"Melissa! Stop it! It's me. It's just Jarod! You're alright. Calm down. It's okay. You're safe. Relax. That's it."

"Jarod. I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't.... I wasn't here."

"I know. It's alright now. Do you want to tell me where you were?"

"The Centre. You know, the infirmary has always creeped me out. I've never liked going down there. Now I know why. I can't believe he'd let them.... him do that to me! I trusted him.... I was a child for God sakes! I was his child...."

Though he could feel her pain almost as deeply as she did, Jarod composed himself and gently urged her to continue.

"Who? What did he do?"

"Raines! I guess.... when you said shot.... that must have touched off the memory. Daddy.... after he pulled me out of that hole.... he let Raines inject me with Styx! God! No wonder I couldn't remember! Those two.... bastards tried to wipe out the better part of eight years of my life!"

Scooting closer, Jarod pulled her into the comforting circle of his arms. She went willingly, finding the burden of this new knowledge too much to bear alone and grateful that, even after all she'd put him through over the years, Jarod was still willing to take part of her pain on himself, still willing to be a friend.

When he finally lifted her away from his shoulder several minutes later, Parker was ninety percent of the way to being fully asleep and working diligently on the last ten percent. Laying her smoothly back onto the pillow, he watched her eyelids flutter as if she were fighting the pull of the rest she needed so badly and tried to quietly soothe her back under.

"No, no. Sleep, now. You're safe. Sleep."

"Stay. Just until I fall asleep."

"Alright. Now, go to sleep."

"Not unless you stay. I want to see you here when I wake up, you hear me? The exact second."

"I'll be here. Hush. Time to rest."

"Up here." she indicated groggily, patting the spot next to her on the bed. "Just as long as you don't get ideas. I might have a chance with Duncan. Never know..."

Standing, Jarod moved around the bed and climbed up beside Parker, his back against the headboard, one hand slowly stroking her hair to ease her into sleep.

"We made it to the white zone, Missy. You're safe here. Noone will hurt you. Sleep, now. White zone means peace...."

"Here find... the Police."

"Something like that. Shhh."

"There's a little black spot on my tie today...."

Pursing his lips tightly, Jarod barely managed not to laugh at her mangling of the song's lyrics.

"Missy, c'mon. I'd like to rest too, you know."

"King of stains.... always be king of stains...."

This time Jarod couldn't restrain himself.

"It's king of pain."

"What? It's not about a dry-cleaner?"

Wrapped in mutual mirth now, both decided to push sleep back a little longer. Jarod, eyes half closed, rifled through his fertile imagination and began to spin a fairy tale for Parker. Just as she had done as a little girl when he'd announced a story was due, she gazed into his face, enraptured with the images and words he plucked, seemingly from thin air, and utterly lost in the story. It was, of course, her story. Jarod ended it as all proper fairy tales end, with the rescue and redemption of the lost princess and happily ever after. Moments after the final syllable drifted off his tongue, both were deeply asleep, finally having found some measure of peace with their pasts, their futures and themselves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOLLOWING MORNING: BLUE COVE

// "You know what will happen the minute you walk in that door, Abe. Try not to show them fear. Men like your Dr. Raines feed on fear. It's ambrosia to them."

"I know. I've prepared myself for every eventuality."

"Even death?"

"That's why I wanted to talk to you. Before I'll be able to get any sleep tonight... there are things I must tell someone. I don't expect or deserve absolution, Michael... I only ask you not to judge me."

"Every soul deserves absolution, Sydney. Some just find it hard to accept."

"Michael...."

"I know. Fine. Enough sermonizing. Begin whenever you're ready."

"I have sinned, father. I ask blessings, not for myself, but for those I care for. It's been three years since my last confession..." //

Seated in his car, Sydney stared out at the main parking lot for the Centre and tried to shake off the tension in his shoulders and the nausea caused by his growing fear. Rehashing the previous evening's conversation with Michael and his good-byes to Broots and Terri were the last stalling tactic he had left, so he used them only reluctantly.

When he knew he could wait no longer, he grasped his briefcase firmly and stepped out of the car, locking the doors behind him out of habit, even though he knew that if he'd left anything there he might care about losing, the point could soon be moot.

As he strolled into the ground floor lobby, the guard at the security desk gave him a brief look, dropped his eyes back to his desk then gazed at Sydney with far more interest.

"Sir. Please stay where you are. I have orders...."

"I know. I'll go willingly."

"I'm sorry, sir. I have no choice in this. I hope you understand." the guard told him as he approached, the handcuffs he carried gleaming in the late morning sun streaming through the glass doors behind Sydney. "Please, don't fight me, doctor. I've always respected you and you've never been anything but kind to me. If I had any leeway here..."

His expression falling as sorrow, regret and fear threatened to overwhelm him, Sydney allowed his case to drop to the floor and held out his hands. Despite his roiling emotions, he managed not to wince or turn his head as the metal restraints were locked around his wrists. "Are they too tight?"

"No. No, they're... just fine."

"Good. If you'd walk ahead of me, doctor?"

"Am I allowed to know where I'm being taken?"

"My orders are to place you in one of the lower level holding cells until Major Hilliard and the Triumvirate can be contacted."

"Hilliard? I don't know the name. It seems things have changed quite a bit since I've been gone."

"More than you know, doc. More than you could ever guess." the guard mumbled as the doors slid closed in front of the two men. This motion broke Sydney's resolve. This time he did turn his eyes away, suddenly sensing his chances of survival vanishing as sharply and completely as the world beyond the elevator just had. As the car began to drop, he found he was unable to convince himself that what awaited him at the end of the brief journey was not the flames of eternal torment and a cheery greeting from the prince of darkness himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In an anteroom a few yards from the holding cells, Raines argued for his role in Sydney's questioning, though the looks his superior was giving him said they both knew who would win.

"No, Raines. No more discussion. I'll interrogate Doctor Abelard. You have far too much emotion invested here to do the job properly. Besides, you have lost sheep to find. Go do it."

"I can break him, sir. Despite whatever posturing Sydney does for others' benefit, he is afraid of me.... afraid of what I can do to him. All I ask...."

"Raines."

His name, and the tone in which it was spoken, were all that was needed to gain Raines' immediate compliance.

"I understand, sir."

Once Raines had exited, Major Hilliard strolled to a small mirror on the left hand wall and spent a moment studying his reflection before allowing a hint of a satisfied smile to touch his mouth. Continuing out into the corridor, he briefly reviewed his plan for questioning Sydney Abelard, knowing he would have the truth from the man, but content not to set a time limit on getting it or to consider the final disposition of the nuisance the doctor had become. His unique sensibilities were quietly reminding him that he hadn't indulged himself in quite a while. Perhaps after he had the information the Tower required... and the good doctor had begged for release at least a few times, he'd decide how painful the man's last moments would be.

The Triumvirate had duly warned him that Abelard was stubborn, strong willed and wasn't likely to surrender easily. He hadn't bothered to tell them that he wouldn't have accepted the assignment if the subject had been anything less. Breaking spineless blobs of jelly was no challenge at all, and he never took on anything unless it promised a challenge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW HOURS LATER:

"Hilliard. Still with us, are you?"

"Yes, sir. Of course. We were discussing the interrogation, weren't we?"

"Mister Broots."

Lowering the volume on the speakerphone just a little in deference to the migraine he could feel on an approach vector, Major Hilliard rubbed his eyes and consulted his notes from the nine hours he'd just spent with Sydney.

"Oh, yes. My apologies, sir. Abelard is just as strong as you said, and highly intelligent. He quite wore me out. Well, let's see. Firstly, according to the good doctor, our missing comp-tech is dead."

"You can't be serious. When?"

"A day or two ago, if Abelard can be believed. His story is that the injury Broots received in the hit and run turned into a ruptured disk. He was rushed to the hospital and died on the table before they could even make an incision. Apparently he was given a heavy painkiller before they took him into the O.R... and he went into convulsions moments later. Nothing they tried worked and eventually, his heart stopped. All resuscitative efforts failed."

"We know he's lying. The report from the house proves it."

"I did ask about that. He claims he and Broots were in the ambulance at the time, so obviously his house was being burglarized. He even made me promise to check on any damage and report the incident to his insurance."

"I reiterate, he's lying."

"I considered it, but his grief is absolutely genuine. You can't fake the emotional impact of losing someone so close. He is holding back or lying about something.... but not about that."

When Raines chose that moment to glide into the anteroom, Hilliard picked up the receiver and irritatedly stabbed the button that disengaged the speakerphone. "No sir, we aren't. Unexpected company. Yes. Yes, I thought as much. Of course. Thank you, sir. No, I do appreciate being given this chance... and the responsibilities, yes, sir. No. It shouldn't even take a month to recover Jarod, sir, and within that month this place will be running efficiently and properly. As it should, yes, sir. No. I won't require any sweepers. They have their place, sir, it just isn't.... That's what he's used to, sir. A radical change in tactics is what I had in mind. No hordes of black cars and black suits, just Miss Parker and I and a pair of hand-held tranq guns should be all I'll need. And a new comp-tech. Of course. I do believe she will turn up, sir. Jarod has a code of ethics. It may not be ours, but we'll remedy that soon enough. He will release her when whatever he's attempting fails. She's far too strong to.... no, sir. I'm not finished with Sydney's debrief yet. I'll fax my initial report now, sir. Very good. God speed."

Standing, Hilliard gathered a few papers from the desk, strolled to the collection of machines behind him and began to fax his report to the Tower. "Yes, Raines. What is it?"

"Sydney...."

"You're not to be privy to that information."

"The Tower..."

"Yes, it's by their order."

"At least... his death. It will be lingering I hope?"

Turning back as the last page fed itself into the device, Hilliard frowned deeply at Raines, wondering if something other than oxygen flowed through the clear tubes into his lungs.

"Sometimes... you disturb me, Raines. Dr. Abelard and I have a few more issues to discuss before I make a final determination. And just in case you're considering throwing your two cents in on that subject, I'd keep it to yourself. Unless you really feel like joining Sydney in the holding cells, that is."

"Yes... sir."

"Progress report on the search for Miss Parker?"

"There's no sign... of either of them. Parker and Lyle have both disappeared off the face of the earth."

"I didn't ask about Lyle."

"No, sir, but..."

"Parker."

"Yes. The only information we have comes from Jarod and is therefore totally untrustworthy. She could be dead and buried and he'd tell us she's vacationing in Acapulco."

"I have to disagree. Jarod will lie to help others, but in all other situations, he'll either say nothing or tell the truth. He also abhors killing. There was only the one incident and that.... well, he was faced with Broots' death wasn't he? And the deaths of millions more, if he'd allowed Damon to go free. His conscience wouldn't stand for it."

"We still haven't been able to replace Damon. That's just one of many things I'd love to personally take out of Sydney's hide...."

"Now, you see, that's precisely what I was saying earlier. You're far too emotionally entangled in this situation. I'm taking over the search for Parker. You.... you go back to your dungeon and play with your experiments.... or whatever it is you do down there."

"I resent the implications of that statement... sir. I am a scientist of the highest order..."

"No, you were. Now you're an old man who's spent his life torturing children and adults because it's one of his great joys. And we've been paying you for it, as well."

"Mister Parker and I...."

".... are significant parts of the myriad problems this facility suffers from. He appears to have taken himself out of the big picture, and unless you get with the program, and damn fast, I've been authorized to do the same for you."

Beginning to push to his feet, Raines, his face brick red with anger, lips tinged blue from the stress on his breathing, started a protest but only managed a few words before Hilliard moved swiftly around the desk and, literally, got in his face, forcing him back into his seat.

"No. The Triumvirate would never...."

"Wouldn't they? Do you think there's a thing that you and Lyle have ever done here or anywhere that the Triumvirate doesn't know about? His little Asian.... hobby and the unauthorized black op he was running out of Blue Cove Hospital have made him a vulnerability the Tower can no longer afford. The search for him has been called off. Your failures haven't made you a liability on that scale yet, doctor, but they easily could. I'd say it's time for you to start being very quiet and very invisible until, and unless, you do something useful and miraculous to benefit the Centre's interests."

Finally straightening away from Raines, the major moved away toward the far corner of the room where a makeshift bar setup had been laid out and poured himself a small measure of sherry.

"Sir. As I came in I heard something about Jarod...."

"I'm taking over his retrieval, and the Centre as well, for that matter. Your current projects are on hold until I have a chance to look into all of them thoroughly. Those that meet with my approval will continue. I'll be giving you other assignments as time goes on."

"Sir... please don't do this. I can bring Jarod home...." Raines wheedled, rising all the way to his feet this time and moving toward where Hilliard stood.

"Stop. You aren't making my migraine any better, Raines. Go home, before I have to call the Tower back and tell them you can't even succeed at obeying a direct order."

"Yes, sir."

Once the doors were closed and secured behind Raines, Hilliard moved back to the desk and sat heavily in the padded chair, the weight of all he'd just taken on falling suddenly on his shoulders. Quickly dry-swallowing a pill to quash the full attack of the migraine, he leaned back and began to mentally redecorate Mister Parker's office to his taste, then, working out from there, restyled the entire Centre complex.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue:

1 WEEK LATER:

"You sure you've had enough time now, love?"

"Yes, Duncan. I'm fine. The foot is healing, the rest of me will eventually follow and Broots needs you."

"Yes. He does. I'll go get himself off the couch in the T.V. room, then. Be right with you."

Jarod entered just then, speaking low to Macleod as they passed.

"Don't hurry."

"Gotcha, mate."

"Jarod. What's that?" Missy greeted him, referring to the blue silk wrapped package he held in his hands.

"For you."

"I can't. If I go back with anything brand new and shiny hanging around my neck or off my ears...."

"It isn't jewelry. Just... open it."

Still wary, Parker cautiously slid the ribbon off and peeled away the wrapping which revealed itself to be a silk scarf, imprinted everywhere with the Chinese symbol for peace. The box contained two disks, one large, one small.

"The CD's for the car. The DSA.... is for now. Or whenever else you feel like it."

Having only gained two days distance from the images that went with the audio she'd heard in the immersion cell, Parker pushed the smaller disk back at Jarod.

"What's on it?"

"Not that. I would never.... I promised you'd never have to see that again."

"Yeah, I will, but it's alright. I've had half the truth in my head for so long, the whole thing feels better.... even when it hurts. Answer the question."

"I promise, it's a good memory. The player is over there on the table. Go push it in. Please?"

As she hauled herself to the couch, dropped her crutches and lowered herself onto the cushion, Jarod moved just close enough to lay a hand on her shoulder, trying to maintain the physical, and emotional, distance he knew he would need in order to be able to let her go.

As the disk slid into place and the images faded into clarity before her, Parker gasped audibly. Jarod had not lied. It was a good memory, and one noone could ever make her surrender.

//He's a striking young man, but in his eyes you can see he doesn't know that. He knows only what he is told, and he has never been told what a beautiful child he is, or what a handsome man he will grow up to be. When the strange creature walks toward him from the other side of the glass partition, he is stunned. He has seen pictures and anatomy texts but this is a radical departure.... //

"You're.... you're a girl."

//The only response from the young woman before him is a swift nod.//

"I'm Jarod. What's your name?"

//This question results in the girl whipping a tense glance over her left shoulder at a shadowy figure watching from a doorway behind her. Receiving a negative response, she returns her gaze to the boy, places her hand on the glass exactly where his lies and provides the only answer she can before she is beckoned away.//

"Miss Parker."

//Her eyes gleaming with curiosity, but also with fear, she races back to the shadow in the door, leaving poor Jarod speechless, transported by a rapidly fading palm-print on the other side of the glass.//

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stretched the length of the T.V. room sofa, his head sunk deeply into a pile of pillows, Methos watched the end credits of Ghost slide up the screen, then gazed down at Macleod, who was sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch, knees drawn up to his chest.

"Ditto. I get it now."

"Thought you might."

"Great movie. That last part.... spectacular. You feel like rousin' yourself for Mass Sunday?"

Grinning broadly, Macleod spoke to what Methos hadn't said.

"Scared me into straight into confession the first time I saw it. If we're back, yeah, why not? So? Any comment?"

A gentle smile tugging at his lips, Methos pushed up to a sitting position. Swinging his legs down, he placed one foot on either side of Macleod, grasped his friend's temples and tilted the others' head back until their eyes met.

"Ditto to you too, Mac."

Before any emotional overflow could betray him, Duncan rose to his feet and suggested they go and check on Jarod and Parker. Methos, also understanding what had not been said, followed without speaking further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you cry."

"No. You're such a big part of me, Jarod, of my heart and my memories.... How could I have denied that for so long.... while I clung to.... and idolized.... and excused the man who lied to me and used me over and over and over."

"I did the same thing. They made sure I thought Sydney was all I had, the only one left who would take care of me. Even after I escaped, I kept running to him for advice, calling just to know he was still there to pick up a phone."

"And now he may not be."

"He isn't dead. I'd know. Part of me will go with him when he.... It doesn't change my decision."

Reading him again, Parker spoke without thinking it through.

"You're cutting off contact."

Jarod nodded sadly.

"I have to. I should have done it a long time ago, but I wasn't strong enough until now." he responded, retrieving the disk and closing the player. "I wanted to e-mail, but I couldn't be sure who'd get it.... if he didn't."

Moving close to his side, Parker lowered her chin onto his shoulder, intending to try and comfort him, but a scar on the nape of his neck pulled her attention there.

"What is this, Jarod?" she asked, stroking a finger over the mark.

"What?"

"This surgical scar. You're telling me you had no idea this was back here?"

"No. Noone ever mentioned it before. What are you saying?"

"I'm not sure. It's old... and very small. It could be something else...."

"Turn around."

Just as Duncan and Methos strolled back into the room, Jarod found a similar scar at the base of Parkers' neck.

"So? Anything?"

"Yes. The same mark." he told her quietly.

When she faced him again, he saw distinct fear in her blue eyes.

"What does this mean, Jarod? I don't...."

"It changes nothing. Broots still needs help, you still need to get back to work."

"But..."

"No. I'll look into this. You remember what we said?"

"Sydney's office, Monday, two weeks."

"Right. I'll call you then. Get going. She's ready, guys. Her bags are in the car."

"Jarod...."

"Go. If you don't do it now....."

Silently, her expression shining with repressed fears and trust that he
would discover the answers if they were anywhere to be found, Parker turned and followed Duncan and Methos out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHARLESTON AIRPORT

"See you in Blue Cove in three days, love." Duncan told Parker as she slipped into the backseat of her car. When he realized her hand was trembling, he grasped it tightly. "Go on, then. I hate to see you do it, but if you can't convince me, you're dead meat when you walk back in there. Show me."

Staring straight ahead, Parker shut her eyes and took several deep breaths. The change in her over the next several minutes would have astonished anyone who watched it happen. The haughtiness slipped back into her expression and the ice back into her eyes. When she slipped her sunglasses back on and pulled her hand abruptly out of his grip, he believed. "Bloody hell. You told me on the plane, but I didn't think...."

Keeping her "pissed off cobra" smile in place, she looked up, slid the glasses half way down and gave him the note of reassurance he needed.

"In the immortal words of John Lennon, 'Pauly. It's only me'. Three days."

"Yeah. 'Till then." he responded as he walked back to the plane backwards, watching her car until it vanished up the highway. When he stumbled on the edge of the stairs to the Lear, unable to see them, Methos, sitting on the fourth step waiting for him, saved him from a nasty fall and dragged him up into the plane, laughing like a madman.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few miles down the highway, Parker handed the driver the CD Jarod had given her and asked him to slip it into the player. As the first song began, she noticed a small piece of paper folded up in the jewel case, pulled it out and opened it.

Missy,

They're all for you. Every song. I didn't dare try to say these things before you left, so....
Anyway. I think you already knew most of this, but I decided you should hear it from them.
Always yours,
Jarod.


When she finally tuned in to the words pouring from the speakers behind her head the composure she'd managed to hold together up until that point crumbled. Tears slipping slowly down her cheeks, she fumbled for a tissue in her purse and elsewhere, but could find nothing suitable, and so, decided to let them flow, the songs Jarod had chosen for her filling, then overflowing, her heart...

// You've got such a pretty smile, it's a shame the things you hide behind it...

let 'em go, give it up for a while, let 'em free and we will both go find it....

Step away then, from the edge... Come back away, come back away.... I am here and I will be forever... Trust me and don't keep that on the inside... I know the feeling of alone.... //


// I know you haven't made your mind up yet, but I would never do you wrong.

I knew it from the moment that we met. There's no doubt in my mind where you belong... //

// Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna make it home again, it's so far out of sight.
I really need someone to talk to, and nobody else, knows how to comfort me tonight. Snow is cold, rain is wet, chills my soul right down to the marrow... //


// Stones would play, inside her head, and where they lay, she made her bed....
and she would ache for love and get but stones. //


// It's a long way, baby, in the wrong direction,

there's a few more bruises, if that's the way you insist on heading....

Take this moment Mary Jane and be selfish. Worry not about the cars that go by.

Cause all that matters Mary Jane is your freedom, so keep warm my dear, keep dry.... //


// I was the first one to really know your name, you were the first one for me,
oh, everyone knew but me,

You were the first one to ever let me down, and I was just the last to know.... //


// Trust is a tightrope we all have to walk, baby don't be afraid, I won't let you fall.

You can count on the sun to rise, and the stars to come out at night, as long as there's air to breathe, you'll always be loved by me.... //


// When winter comes in summer, when there's no more forever...

Sure you've heard these words before, and I know it's hard for you to trust them once more...

a broken heart is scared of breakin' again... you gotta believe me, I'll never leave you, you'll never cry unless I am there, and I will always be there... you will always have all my love...

when the stars all decide to stop shining... when lies become the truth... that's when I'll stop loving you... every day of my life... //

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THREE DAYS LATER: A MOTEL OUTSIDE BLUE COVE

"You have to go."

"I know. Don't want to, but...."

"Hey. Broots is more important." Parker reminded Duncan distractedly as she scowled at herself in the lopsided mirror in his hotel room.

"Stop that. What kind of a look is that for a stunningly beautiful woman to give herself?"

"Please." she growled, producing an even more disgusted glare. "I hardly think...."

Stepping between Parker and the mirror, Macleod grasped her chin firmly and brought her eyes up to meet his.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?"

"Noone who didn't want something out of it."

"C'mon...."

"My mother."

"Since then there's been noone." Duncan said as he crouched in front of the woman perched on the end of the bed. He'd considered phrasing it as a question, but was forced to admit that, as far as she was concerned, he was stating fact.

"Only Jarod. He kept sending me things, a painting, a stained glass piece he'd made... he saw what I couldn't.... can't."

"I can. Someday... I'll make you see it too. You are, truly, beautiful, in every imaginable way...."

"Mac. I'm sorry, mate, but we have to move out and she has to get to the Centre."

"I know. What is your problem?"

Methos continued scratching under the collar and inside the sleeves of the cassock he wore.

"These modern fabrics are.... argghhh... my problem! Linen never did this to me!"

Rising, after a final smile for Parker, Mac strode to where Methos stood and grabbed his hands.

"Yes. Well, you can't go into the abbey acting as if you lost your flea collar. Cut it out."

"I'll.... try. Damnable rayon and nylon... and all the other "ons"! Urrrr!" he growled, giving in to a last furious round of scratching before settling down and trying to deal with it. With the help of her crutches, Parker also stood, straightened her clothes gave Duncan a swift one-armed embrace and led the way out to the parking lot and their cars.

"I'll see you in a couple months then?"

"If I can get away. After this little escapade, they'll be keeping an eye on me for a while."

"That's how we'll leave it then. I'll talk to you soon."

"Good luck. Take good care of Broots and Debbie and tell him I'll miss him."

"We will." Methos told her, giving her a quick hug of his own. "Stay safe, sweetheart. Safeguard the little one."

"I promise. Missy will be alright."

"You will call when you're ready to...."

"I said I would. Get going you two. Time's short."

As Parker moved away and struggled into the passenger seat of the car, Duncan slipped the hood of his cassock up over his head, turned to lock the door to the room and fumbled with getting the keys into his pants pocket under the ankle length robe, distracting himself from the sight of Melissa and the convertible driving away. Methos watched in his stead.

"Okay. She's off."

"I hate this. I promised myself.... after Tessa, I swore.... never again. My heart won't take it..."

"I've sworn up and down a million times, but I know it will happen again. You don't choose love, Mac. Even if she was one of us, you still might lose her. She's taking the chance going back there. You can take the chance and really let her in. If a heart could never break..."

"I know. Where's the romance in that? Let's go meet this Mister Broots, shall we?" Duncan suggested with forced brightness as he climbed into the sedan they'd rented at the airport.

"We shall. On to more adventures?"

"Misadventures, old friend."

"Let's go knock some windmills flat on their arses, eh?"

"Yeah. Let's."

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END (For Now.... New series coming up soon....)