See part 1 for disclaimer.

WARNING: This part is so sappy it may actually induce vomiting.

Brand New Year, Part 8
By Ginger


How long had it been? How long since she had allowed herself to really feel; to let an emotion, good or bad, touch every part of her? Tommy? No, not quite. She had just resolved to surrender herself fully to the experience of being with him, of loving him, when she found him lying dead on her porch. As painful as it was - and there were moments when she thought it might kill her - there was still a place inside that she wouldn't let it touch. From there she drew the strength to drag herself out of bed every morning, slap on her ice queen facade, and get on with it.

Her father? Or, rather, the man who had lied to her about everything, including being her father? No. Never. She'd spent a lifetime trying, and he'd hurt her time and again. But, in the final analysis, it had been a hell of a lot easier than she'd imagined once he was gone. Sure, she'd grieved, but that grief was always kept in check by her suspicions regarding his true motives for jumping out of the plane. Try as she might, she hadn't been able to trust him at the hour of his death, rather fittingly rounding out a lifetime of disappointment. Of course, finding out about the baby had further altered her feelings toward him, but by then it hardly mattered. The truth had liberated her from Mr. Parker's clutches once and for all and, although she now despised him, she did not and would not expend much effort in doing so.

And Michael? Yes, she had felt a connection to him from the moment he drew his first breath, and he was on her mind a great deal during those months when she didn't see him. Then he was in her life again and she fell a little more in love with him every day. But still she hedged, insulating herself by reminding herself that Jarod would take him and disappear. They would go one way and she another.

The acute, stabbing pain that accompanied thoughts of being separated from her son could only be eclipsed by one thing: the terror of loving him the way she knew she would if she stuck around. If there was one take-home message from the last several decades of her life, it was that she was not permitted that kind of love. It was always taken away. So, this time, she had decided to give it up willingly before it could be torn from her, hoping that it would mean a different end to the story. Wasn't it Jarod who'd said that she could change the ending if she wanted to? Well, that's exactly what she'd intended to do: to write the ending in which their son would grow up safe, healthy, and happy.

The words, so rational and coherent in her mind, were considerably less so as she attempted to say them aloud. The shaking, sobbing and hiccupping didn't help, nor did his hands, undoing her with a lethal combination of strength and tenderness as he pulled her into his arms and held her. As much as she knew she should resist, she couldn't bring herself to do it. It felt good to be held; nobody had held her, really held her, since Tommy. And it felt good to be held by Jarod; a lifetime had elapsed since the last time she'd been in his arms and they still fit like... like puzzle pieces. Christ, hadn't Jarod called them that once, right after Tommy died?

This was just one of the memories, or fragments of memory, that raced through her mind. Faces flashed and voices echoed events both recent and distant. One moment she was looking into James's soulful eyes, listening to him recount dreams of her mother, and the next she was in a condemned warehouse with an injured Sydney telling her that it wasn't too late to get a life. She was on the floor of an elevator with Broots, who smiled as he told her that Debbie wanted to be just like her, and then she was holding Debbie close and reading to her. In one instant, she was a child herself, being read to by her mother, but in the next she was looking into Ethan's eyes as he told her that their mother watches over her. She was creeping through the halls of the Centre in her starched school uniform, looking for him and feeling impatient but not frantic because she knew she'd find him eventually; she always did. Then she was in front of the fire at Ocee's and she didn't have to look at all because he was right there with her.

And then there was Michael, covered in Brigette's blood and screaming at the horror of being forced out of the warm paradise of the womb and into the cold, harsh reality of the world. And then there was Michael, fishing animal crackers from his pocket and feeding them to Jarod. And then there was Michael, a child of about ten running through the grass with a dog. And then there was Michael, tall and lean and muscular with a cocky smile like his father's. And, obviously, these weren't memories anymore. They were fantasies, images of things she wasn't entitled to but wanted anyway, more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

Finally, she choked out, "I... I can't..."

"Yes," he whispered and, God help her, kissed her forehead before adding, "You can."

"N... no... I... I'm too selfish," she stammered.

"Like hell," he challenged softly.

"No!" she protested then pulled away from him, and herself together, in order to complete a thought. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she stated, "I can't even though I know I should; even though I know he'd be better off without me. I can't do it. I can't leave him."

His enormous sigh of relief was almost comical, and she might have laughed were she capable. Instead she collapsed against him, saving him the trouble of pulling her back into his arms. She could feel his body tremble with tears, which she could also hear in his voice as he whispered into her hair, "Thank you, Andi. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Well, that was that. She'd just bailed on the sacrifice of a lifetime. And after priming herself for weeks. All the Scotch, all those stomach aches, all that misery for nothing. What the hell had she been thinking, anyway? She just didn't have it in her; she should have known better.

"Try to sleep a little," he advised, carefully manuevering her into a comfortable position.

Nodding she turned her head to look up at him and asked, "How are we going to keep him safe? What kind of life can we give him?"

"Let me worry about that right now, and when you're better we'll figure it all out. I've always thought we'd make a pretty good team, unstoppable actually: your tenacity, my good looks."

She emitted a soft chuff of amusement but did not reply, letting the warm, sleepy feeling overtake her. As she began to drift, it occurred to her that she and the one person she had been trained to mistrust and hate lay entwined, intimately if not erotically. An image of Mr. Parker formed in her mind and she found herself marveling at the man's stupidity. What on earth had possessed him to arrange her childhood introduction to Jarod? And what made him think that the connection between them was something that he could control? Well, she supposed, it did serve to prove one point unequivocally: he'd never really known "his Angel," not as a little girl and even less so as a grown woman. Idiot.

* * * *

Emily peered into the room, exhaled deeply and whispered to Michael, "Mommy and Daddy are asleep. Maybe we should come back la..."

He frowned, shook his head emphatically, and reached out toward the sleeping figures.

"Okay," she sighed and quietly crept into the room, feeling like an intruder on the cozy little scene.

Her brother and Miss Parker were curled up together like... well, like precisely what they were... or would be... inevitably. Emily hadn't a doubt in her mind as she gazed into her brother's handsome face. It was hard enough catching Jarod in a state of sleep, but even harder to find him looking so relaxed and peaceful. She smiled wistfully when she noticed the way he held Miss Parker, carefully protecting her injured shoulder even as he slept. They were certainly striking as a pair, and in her arms was living proof that they would make beautiful babies if they wanted to. It was all rather nauseating, she thought wryly, and was mid-smirk when Parker opened her eyes with a start. Looking mortified, she attempted to extract herself from Jarod's embrace, causing him to awaken too. He blinked up at his sister, looking rather disoriented.

"Sorry," she began with humor dancing in her eyes. "But he insisted," she continued as she set Michael down on the bed.

"Of... of course," Parker replied as she again attempted to free herself from Jarod's grasp. A slight jab to his ribs with her good elbow and he seemed to get the message.

Emily bit her lip to stifle a smile then announced, "I'll leave you to enjoy some family time alone, and I'll see that you aren't disturbed again until dinner."

"Thanks, Em," Jarod offered warmly then immediately turned his attention to the child nestling between him and Miranda.

"Yes, thank you," Parker repeated with a courteous nod before her gaze fell lovingly on her little boy.

"Anytime," Emily uttered with a smile then discreetly stepped out of the room.

She stopped in the doorway, turned to look over her shoulder then sighed and whispered, "Welcome Home, Jarod," before pulling the door closed behind her. She'd taken all of two steps down the hall when she came face to face with James, who looked very much like a man on a mission.

"And where do you think you're going?" she asked, cocking one eyebrow.

"I'm going to see how Miranda is doing."

"No, you're not," she stated as she took him gently by the arm to turn him around. Guiding him down the hall, she explained, "She and Jarod are spending some quality time with Michael. And you can stop worrying. Judging by the way they were snuggled up together when I brought the baby in, I think it's safe to say that Miss Parker isn't going anywhere."

"Snuggled up together? Do you mean Jarod and Miranda?"

"Indeed, I do," she replied with a jovial slap on his back.

"Nice," he remarked as they reached the staircase. "I do all the hard work and he gets the reward."

Chuckling she advised, "Somehow, I don't think Jarod is going to see it that way." With a playful shove to his shoulder she followed him down the stairs asking, "You are hungry, I assume?"

"How'd you guess?" he shot back with a toothy grin.

# # # #