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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
~Part 1
by Brynna
Author's Notes: This is a MP/Thomas romance, and there are some disturbing images of a miscarriage, and death.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed in this fan fiction belong to NBC and any other copyright holders. No infringement is intended.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So much blood. I don't think I've ever lost this much.
She's so tiny. Oh my god, she's so little.
Dead. Definitely dead. Baby. Mine. Dead
Oh god.
And mercifully, I slip into unconsciousness.
~~~~~
I didn't know how attached I would become to her. Five months, she was my world.
I'd stopped smoking, stopped chasing Jarod. Hell, I'd even stopped snapping at Broots.
But they wouldn't leave me alone. Daddy, and Raines. Lyle. They kept after me, even after I'd finally left the Centre, finally gotten the courage to stand up to my father; and to tell him no.
They wanted to drag me back. I had to be kept in the fold of the Centre, because what I know could destroy them.
So they decided to destroy me instead.
Slowly, deliberately. Methodically, even.
It started small, just little things. Then they took Thomas from me. Then they integrated that little weasel, Michael, into my search for Jarod. Now this. Yes, I can blame them for my losing my baby. I wouldn't have been out here, wouldn't have been running, and not taking care of us, if it wasn't for them.
Us. That is the most frightening thought . . . there was an 'us' I was actually thinking about, instead of just myself. Running a hand down over my stomach, tears come to my eyes again. Not anymore. It's just me, again.
I refuse to cry again. I've cried so much. And tears are a weakness I can't afford right now. I have to leave again. They know where I am. And they can't know where I am. There's nothing to stop them, now, from killing me. Daddy wouldn't, while I was pregnant. After all, my baby would have the gene. Not that she was his grandchild; that doesn't matter to him. Just that the gene would have been in her blood.
Tossing the little that I have into a bag, I stop, breathing hard. There's still blood all over my clothes and I don't have the energy to change. I take a step, and fall. The bed catches me. I'm so tired. Too tired. I can't run like this. Curling up, I close my eyes. I'll just rest for a few minutes. Just a little while, then I can go.
I don't even see the shadow in my room, as I fall fast asleep.
~~~~~
"Is that a smile I see?"
Shaking my head, I smile a little wider at Thomas, who's sitting across the table from me. "No. I don't smile."
"I can see that." He smiles back. Oh my god, what a smile. I shut my eyes for a moment, as he reaches his hand across the table to mine, just letting his fingers rest against mine. "So, Parker, you ever gonna tell me your first name?"
My teeth close over my lower lip, as I open my eyes, looking up at him."No," I murmur softly.
Sighing, he shakes his head. "Well, I don't usually feel that I can continue a relationship with a woman whose name I don't know." I lick my lips, waiting for him to tell me goodbye. It won't be the first time it's happened. But he surprises me. "I think I'll make an exception this time."
I smile again. "How noble of you."
"There's that smile again," he whispers, brushing his fingers over mine. It's such a gentle touch; I'm almost shocked by it. "You sure you don't smile?"
"Positive."
"And you're sure you won't tell me your name?"
I nod. "Yes."
"You know," he whispers, his tone husky. I shiver slightly, and raise an eyebrow. He chuckles. "I think that calling you Parker in the middle of making love to you seems . . ." that breathtaking smile widens, and succeeds in taking my breath away. "Right." He actually manages to make his voice serious, but his eyes tease me.
Taking a breath, I make my tone, and face, steely cold. Something I haven't done with him in a long time. "What makes you think you'll have any need to find out?"
I watch, almost fascinated, as he lifts my hand from the table. He stands up, walking toward me. Kneeling next to my chair, he takes my hand, kissing the knuckles softly. As he lowers his mouth to my fingertips, he darts his tongue out, flicking over my skin. Watching him, it's one of the most erotic things I've ever seen. His lips wrap around my index finger, sucking softly on it, and I feel myself become wet. Oh god, what is he doing to me?
"I don't think," he whispers, releasing my finger, and running his lips in a straight line up my palm, over my wrist. He nibbles softly at the pulse, and I moan. I can't help it. Glancing at me, his eyes sparkle. "I know."
Before I can reply, or even gather my thoughts to have a witty, biting remark handy, he snakes his fingers into my hair, and pulls me toward him. Offering no resistance, no protest, Thomas lifts me effortlessly from my chair into his lap on the floor. I don't even notice the floor because he doesn't give me time to think. He just kisses me. Softly. The touch is ghost-like, and if I couldn't feel the rest of his body, I might think I was imagining it.
No man I've ever been with was this gentle. I suppose, I don't exactly inspire it. I know my outward persona inspires more roughness than anything. I suppose that's why I've had so many men who were into bondage. But Thomas, he's not. He's gentle. The way he's moving his mouth over mine, it's slow, soft. Teasing. And amazing. His tongue brushes against my lips, which part for him instantly.
This kiss, this . . . it's more than a kiss, but I don't know the words for it. He's making love to my mouth. To my hair, the way his hands move through it. Then suddenly, he stops.
I lean my head back, and stare at him. His eyes are dark, and questioning, the question one he won't ask out loud. "Megan," I whisper to him, unable, all of a sudden, to hide anything from this man, and finding myself intrigued and terrified by it.
"It fits," Thomas whispers back to me. "I'll still call you Parker, if that's what you want?"
My head shakes, before my brain can process the question. But it's the right response. I don't want to hide behind the fear of what someone knowing those little things about me could do. Not this time. I touch my hand to his face, feeling the stubble of the five o'clock shadow on his cheek. My fingers trace over his lips, and he smiles. I smile back.
"For someone who doesn't smile, yours is beautiful," he murmurs, kissing my fingers.
"Maybe I do smile," I admit, fleetingly wishing I could find that bravado I usually inject into my personality. I feel vulnerable with
Thomas, and I'm not used to it. The feeling is fear inducing. And comforting.
It's a paradox, and one that I'm sure at some later date I will examine to it's fullest. I simply don't want to at the moment.
Nodding, he leans closer to me, the question that had stopped us before now resolved. "I think you do," he tells me, his mouth so close to mine that our lips touch as he speaks, and as I inhale, the air is his breath. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I have a vague memory of that being a Hawaiian tradition, the exchange of souls between soulmates; something done at weddings. The thought leaves, as does all other, as he leans forward the short distance between us, and presses his lips against mine again, gently.
"If I do, it's only because you make me," I murmur against his mouth, kissing him back. As my eyes shut, I feel as though I'm falling. Fast, rushing down, out of control. And then, Thomas catches me. Metaphorically, and then quite literally, when my entire body seemingly goes limp, and I'm no longer able to support my weight, even in his arms. Leaning my head back, I stare at him, trying to associate the feelings. I shake my head a little, at the worry I see in his eyes, and lean back to kiss him again, missing the feel of his mouth on mine already.
I'm not used to that. In fact, I'm almost bothered by it, missing someone's touch. But as Thomas moves his lips against mine, his tongue into my mouth, I stop caring. I want this. I want to crave him. I want this man to fill my senses. No one ever has, because I've never let anyone in enough before. It was too much, I was too afraid. I've let the fear control my actions, and shut off my emotions for too long.
Breaking our kiss again, I take his hand. I don't want to be the controller tonight. But I don't know how to give it up. So I smile at him, and dip my head a little, barely looking at him. "Take me to bed," I whisper, so quietly I almost can't hear myself.
He stares at me, his eyes scrutinizing my face, my body. For a moment, I think he's going to say no. And he proves my fears wrong, again. His arm moves under my knees and he stands, lifting me in his arms. I've never been big on this whole . . . Scarlett O'Hara/Rhett Butler sweeping someone off her feet thing. It's always seemed chauvinistic. Not now. Being in Thomas' arms, it feels good. It even feels right. I stare into his eyes as he carries me toward the bedroom. His eyes are almost hypnotic, especially now, with how dark they've become. Everything about the way he's looking at me, the way he's touching me is erotic. I don't believe anyone's come as close to making me come, just kissing me, as he did.
"You're sure about this?" he murmurs, as we reach the bed, and he sets me on top of it gently.
Laughing softly, I nod, reaching up and pulling his body onto the bed with me. "I'm sure," I assure him. I have never heard a man ask that before.
He smiles that breathtakingly beautiful smile again, and nudges me back onto the mattress. Staring up at him, I choose to be passive to him, wanting and wishing for him to show me that it's all right if I do.
He does just that.
Starting with my shirt, his hands move, untucking it from my skirt. His hands, which I have admired for a while now, large and strong, slide under the material, stroking my stomach softly. The touch causes me to shiver, and my eyes drift shut.
"Look at me," he whispers, leaning closer, his lips by my ear. "Your eyes tell me what you're thinking, what you want, even when your voice doesn't."
Allowing my eyes to open again, I watch him, keeping my gaze locked to his eyes. I feel his fingers flitting over my skin, as he unbuttons my shirt, slowly. His body is next to mine, and he lowers his mouth, pressing soft wet kisses against my stomach. The way he moves, he covers every patch of exposed skin with his mouth. The touch makes me moan quietly, my eyes shutting again. Lifting my head enough to see his face, I open them again, watching as he unbuttons more of my shirt, stopping at the bottom of my bra. Again, he covers every newly exposed bit of flesh with his lips.
Shifting his weight, Thomas centers himself over me, taking his weight on either hand, next to my head. Showing off considerable skill, his teeth unbutton the top button on my shirt, not damaging the material at all. Leaving only the button over the center of my chest closed, he trails his mouth over the neck, the top of my chest, his lips skimming over the very edges of the white lace bra I'm wearing.
Small noises leave my throat; they surprise me. I've never been very vocal, not like this at least. He brings it out in me. That, and so much more.
Lifting my hand, I touch his face, and he smiles, leaning toward my touch. That small movement causes my breath to catch, and I bite my lip, watching, fascinated, as he trails a hand over to my chest, shifting his weight to the other arm. The last button on my shirt opens quickly, and as I watch him, he lowers his mouth to my breast, his lips closing around my nipple, which is still covered by the lace of my bra. He sucks softly, keeping every touch to my body gentle, and my back arches toward him. I hear myself whispering his name, and slowly, my hand moves into his hair. I start to pull up on his t-shirt and he stops what he's doing, looking up at me.
"Don't" he murmurs. "Just let me do everything." Brushing his lips against mine in a soft, fast kiss, he smiles at me. "You're safe to let me be in control Megan," he tells me, as if reading my mind.
He uses the perfect choice of words, however, and I release his shirt, my other hand remaining in his hair, as I need to touch him. Shifting again, he undoes the front clasp on my bra, and, using his mouth, he pushes the lacy cloth away from my breast. I gasp as the tip of his tongue flicks over the hard peak of my nipple. He does it again, and again, quick, almost sharp licks, but still so gentle. Everything is infinitely gentle.
It's becoming a struggle, but my eyes stay open, almost transfixed on his mouth. I lick my lips and swallow, attempting to get some moisture to my dry throat. He chuckles, deep in his chest, and due to our close proximity, I feel it more than hear it. His mouth releases my nipple and I gasp again, this time at the cold air that hits it. The sound becomes a moan when his hand covers my breast.
I've always had a bit of an insecurity about my breasts. They've always been either too big, or not big enough, for every other man I've been with. I'll tell you, it's enough to give a girl a complex. Thomas doesn't seem to have a problem with their size. Just one more thing to love about him.
Wait a second, did I just use the word love? No, couldn't have . . . I take a shallow breath as I stare up at him; he's looking down at me. Okay, maybe I could have.
"You are exquisitely beautiful, Megan Parker," Thomas whispers to me, lowering his mouth to mine for a fleeting kiss, before skimming his mouth soft and quickly down my throat, seeking my other breast.
He only talks like that when he's trying to get me to smile. Only this time, I know he means it.
My back arches toward his incredible mouth, and his hand moves under me to hold me close. "Thomas," I whisper, my voice sounding breathy, and foreign in my head. His eyes dart to mine, expectantly, while that tongue runs in slow circles around my nipple. My head shakes slightly. There hadn't been anything, simply his name.
I feel his lips curve into a smile. Releasing my nipple, he sits back, and removes his shirt, allowing me a moment to admire his form. All that physical work was good for him, and his chest showed it perfectly. And his arms. I run my eyes over his body, a small smile making it's way onto my lips.
"Oh, you definitely smile," he tells me, tracing my mouth with his index finger. "Turn over," he whispers, leaning toward my ear, his hands sliding under my shirt and bra straps, pushing them away from my body.
I sit up to help him, and press a kiss to his mouth before turning onto my stomach, lying back down. I feel his hands undoing the zipper of my skirt, and tugging the soft suede down my legs. "Now," he whispers, his mouth directly over my ear. "I want you to keep your eyes closed."
They drift shut instantly.
I feel his fingers tracing my spine. His touch is almost nonexistent, and I shiver a little. I can almost feel his smile. His mouth follows his fingers, his tongue running the length of my spine. I feel the bed shift, and hear the sound of his zipper unzipping. By his movements, I know he's taken off his jeans. I want to look at him, but remain laying face down, eyes shut. He reaches the waist of my panties, black lace to offset the bra, and I feel his tongue dip under the edge, tracing it along my back.
He moves, and the next touch I feel if the tip of his tongue tickling the back of my knee. I hear a giggle, and it takes a moment for me to register that it came =from= me. I don't giggle. But then again, I don't smile either.
He does the same to my other knee, and I giggle again. What is Thomas =doing= to me?
All sorts of good things, a voice in the back of my head answers. I have to agree.
His tongue traces the curve of my ass, at the bottom edge of my panties. "Tell me what you're feeling?" he asks, rubbing his cheek slightly against my ass.
And my eyes fly open. =Tell= him? That's one thing I can honestly say I've never done. He must feel me tense, because he moves quickly, covering my body with his, and wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
"It's okay," he whispers into my ear. "You don't have to. I just wanted to know."
"I . . ." my eyes shut again, I can't look at him and talk. "I've never . . . no one ever wanted to know before."
Nodding slightly, he places a series of kisses behind my ear, along my hairline. "It's okay, really. I understand." He smiles a little, his fingers brushing over my skin softly. "I've never asked before."
My face turns toward his and my eyes open. "I feel . . . aroused. And very different than I ever have before. I feel . . ." I bite my lip, searching for the right words. "Light. And safe. And maybe a little scared. Not of you," I correct quickly.
"Thank you," he murmurs, running the tip of his tongue along the edge of my ear. His hands slide to my hips, and take hold of my panties. "If you ever do feel scared, of me, I want you to tell me."
Swallowing, my eyes shut again. I could never be scared of him. But I nod anyway. "I will," I whisper, lifting my hips slightly to help him remove the lace from my skin.
As he lays back against me, I feel the silk of his boxers against my skin, his erection pressing against my ass. Silk? I wouldn't have figured him for a silk type. It fits, somehow, but I wouldn't have guessed.
"I want to go down on you," he whispers in my ear, his hand moving to the front of my hips, through the hair between my legs, and one finger touching my clit. The touch is so soft, I whimper slightly. Another sound I don't think I've ever heard come from my body. "I want to taste you."
Stifling a groan, I turn, back onto my back. He lays at my side, his fingers continuing to stroke me, occasionally dipping down inside me, then swirling my wetness over my clit. My head falls deeper into the pillow, and I bite my lip for a second, then realize he was asking for permission. Opening my eyes, I lean up to him, kissing his mouth. "You can do anything you want," I tell him softly, meaning it with an intensity I didn't think I could possess about those words.
Now oral sex is something I'm good at giving. I learned the power of a good blow job very young. But I have yet to meet a man who can give as good as he gets.
Until now.
Oh my god, the things this man can do with his mouth. I think it's a safe bet he's one of those guys who'll tie a cherry stem in a knot with his tongue to impress you. Not that I think he'd waste the time trying to impress me.
The tip of his tongue traces my clit, then lowers, darting inside me, licking up my wetness. I hear him groan as he tastes me, and my hands move to his hair. I've been so wrapped up in letting him do what he wants that I've barely touched him, and I tangle my fingers in the locks of his hair. He moves back to my clit, his lips wrapping around it. He sucks softly, like he did to my nipple, and I cry out. Ahh, a familiar sound.
I barely even sense my orgasm, until it hits. As I start to come, my body jerks against his mouth, and my cries escalate almost to a scream.
Moving, quickly, Thomas removes his boxers and moves up my body, thrusting his erect cock inside me. Then he stops moving. The sensation sparks a few more spasms from me.
I stare up at him, and he smiles widely, lowering his mouth to kiss me. I taste myself, combined with the taste of his mouth, and it tastes good. My hands are still in his hair, and I use them to bring his mouth even closer to mine.
Slowly, he starts moving inside me. Long, deep, slow thrusts. I never thought I liked slow and gentle, until tonight. And I don't like it. I crave it. I love it.
My eyes open to watch his face as we kiss.
I love him.
The total realization of that barely hits me, when he touches my clit with his fingers. His slow, deep rhythm of thrusting continues, and within minutes, he makes me come again. As I move against him, spasming around his cock, he begins to thrust faster. His mouth never leaves mine as he switches from long and slow, to short, deep and fast. The sound of his groan, as he comes inside me, is beautiful. Arousing and soothing. And all him.
He slows, then stops his movements. Staring down at me, he starts to move, to pull out of me. "Don't," I whisper, stopping him. I don't think I've ever - and this is so cliched - basked in the afterglow before. But I don't want to lose this feeling.
"I want you to stay," I tell him, gently pushing him onto his back, and rolling with him. He slips from inside me, and I wrap my leg around his hips, my head on his chest.
"Then I want to stay," he whispers in response, both arms wrapping around my body. "Get some rest."
Smiling at him, I nod. "You too," I murmur. "And you're right, I do smile."
As he kisses my temple, my eyes shut.
~~~~
I turn slightly; my arm is falling asleep from laying on it. And I hear a motor. Car motor. My eyes open, and fresh tears fill my eyes. It was just a dream, a memory. He's still gone. My hand drifts to my stomach. So is she.
My eyes focus on the back of a head. A male head. I'm in the back seat of a car. And Jarod's driving.
"Jarod," I say softly.
I try to sit up, but I black out, falling back to the seat. Maybe I should just stay like this. Forever.
~~~~~
My eyes open again. My head is throbbing. And I'm no longer in the car, but on a large bed. It's probably comfortable. Not that I can feel much of anything.
I look around, slowly sitting up this time. I'm alone; the room is dark. Then the door swings open, brightening it for half a second.
"Good you're awake."
Jarod.
"I was getting worried about you."
My eyes shut again, and I clutch at the pillow next to my hand. "What's going on?" I ask him quietly, my voice unsteady. My entire life is unsteady, why should my voice be any less?
"I just thought you could use a helping hand," he tells me, sitting in the chair next to the table, on the other side of the room. "Maybe a friend."
Opening my eyes, I look at him. "A friend? You?" I shake my head in response. "I don't think that would work Jarod."
He doesn't answer for a moment, only opens the bag he brought in with him, and pulls out food. The smell turns my stomach. He must see my grimace, because he only takes a bite, and puts it all back into the bag. "We used to be friends," he reminds me
quietly. "I'm just trying to help. If you'd rather I left, tell me. I'll
leave you the car, it's currently untraceable."
"I'd rather you left," I whisper, hugging the pillow close to my body, wishing, praying that it was Thomas.
"They're together," he murmurs, not moving from the table. "Wherever they are, they are with each other." I watch as he fiddles with his hands, as if he doesn't know what to do with them. "And I buried her next to him."
My lower lip trembles. I was never told where Thomas' body was. "Where are they?" I ask him quietly, my voice cracking, as the tears overflow onto my cheeks.
I watch Jarod lean forward, his elbows on his knees. "Not far from here," he says, his voice soft, gentle. "I know I should have asked you first, but I wasn't sure how you would feel when you finally woke up." He sighs, and drags his hand over his face. I
watch him age, five years at least, in an instant. "Would you like me to take you to them?"
I have a death grip on the pillow. I can't find my voice to answer, but I nod. My eyes follow his movements as he stands, and walks to my side.
"Come on, I'll take you there, and then I'll leave, so you can be on your own, to sort everything out." I feel his hand on my shoulder, the touch, so gentle. It reminds me of the way Thomas touched me, and I jerk away. Jarod's eyes cloud, and he sighs. "I'm sorry," he murmurs.
He sounds so sorry. Like all of this is his fault. "Don't apologize for things you had no control over," I mumble, standing up. It's then I notice my clothes. Sweat pants and a flannel shirt. I know the shirt. I've worn the shirt before. Thomas gave it to me, right
off his back, when my blouse got wet one night. My eyes dart straight to Jarod's face. "How . . .?" I ask, not knowing how to voice the question.
"I thought you might need some comforting things about now."
My eyes narrow. "How did you know?"
"I didn't," he tells me honestly. "Not . . . for sure. But I had a feeling. A bad one."
Biting my lip, I see something familiar in his eyes. "Running SIMs again?" I question softly, tears still slowly running down my cheeks. He nods, once. "How close were they?"
Jarod's eyes shut. "Too close. I knew you couldn't get out of there alone, not before they would have been there." His eyes run over my face, down to my feet, and back up my body. I might have thought anyone else was checking me out, sexually. He was just making sure I'm all right. "You lost a lot of blood. You're still a bit pale, from it all. I'm just glad you didn't need a transfusion." He licks his lips, and I can tell he's trying not to tell me certain things. "You do need to see a doctor, however. Soon."
"I know." My arms wrap protectively around my body, pulling Thomas' shirt closer to me. If I were the imaginative type, I could pretend his arms are around me. But I'm not.
Not that he didn't try to get me to be.
He tried everything. From making me wish on a star, to telling him my deepest fantasies.
~~~~~
"Come on, just tell me one."
Staring at Thomas, curled up in his arms, I shake my head. "I don't =have= fantasies," I mumble, blatantly lying to him. I didn't have many, before he came into my life, but since . . . I have plenty.
"Liar," he whispers into me ear, hugging me closer.
I bite my lip, and shut my eyes. This is so ridiculous. "Sexual or non?" I ask him, resting my head against his shoulder.
"Whatever you want to tell me." I feel his fingers on my chin, and he tilts my head toward his. "But I think I want to know something . . . simple. Something you want that you've never told another living soul."
"Somewhere, deep down, that I don't access much, I . . ." Taking a breath, I swallow, never having given any credence to these thoughts. "I want to have a normal life, stay home, have a family."
The smile he gives me almost stops my heart. "Tell me about it?" he requests, in such a sweet way I can't say no.
"I don't really know," I tell him, sitting up slightly in his arms, mine going around his neck. "I guess I've just . . . wanted to hear someone call me mom. And to come home, and know someone'll be there, happy to see me. My life isn't exactly what I had
planned, nor is it something I like very much."
I watch his face, as his eyes shine in recognition. "Tell me about her? Your mother? She's why you feel like this, isn't she?"
And he knows me too well. "Yes," I whisper, for once not wishing I could go back to when I could hide things from him. "My mother . . . she died when I was young, and it left me wanting things that I don't think I'll ever have."
"Like what?"
I hate it when people pry into my life, into my mind. It's bad enough I have to live there, I don't want anyone else to. "Like a child," I hear myself saying. "Like someone to love me, no matter what I do wrong."
His lips press against my ear. "I do," he whispers. The words bring tears to my eyes. If he only knew what I've done . . . "None of that matters," he murmurs. He has become a mind reader.
~~~~~
"Miss Parker?"
Jarod's voice snaps me out of my reverie; my cheeks feel wet from more tears. I =hate= crying.
"Do you want to go?" he asks quietly. He's moved to the other side of the room, away from me. I don't blame him.
"Yes." I slip my feet into the shoes that are on the floor. Sensible sandals, very much a Jarod-like choice. He extends an arm in front of him, out the door. We remain in silence as we drive from the hotel to a small cemetery. It's very peaceful, nothing around, and in the middle of a field of wildflowers. I turn to look at Jarod for the first time since we got in the car, almost half an hour ago. "Where are we?"
"Montana," he murmurs, not meeting my eyes.
Montana. Where Thomas grew up. "What did you do, steal the background check Broots ran on him?"
He nods. "I was . . . concerned about you. And very happy to know that I didn't have to be. He was a good man, Miss Parker."
My hands protectively cover my stomach, an ache growing around the feeling of emptiness. "I know." My hand shakes as I open the car door. "Where are they?"
"Left corner, other side of the cemetery. Under the weeping willow."
How perfect. "I . . . thank you Jarod."
"Wait." I turn; he hands me the car keys. "I'll leave you alone, for now."
My fingers curl around the keys, and I nod. "Thank you."
Climbing out of the car, I walk toward the tree, stopping as I reach the fresh grave. Our daughter. There's a simple headstone above both of the graves, marking them.
I trace his name with my fingers. Thomas. Simply Thomas. Not that I expected to see his full name. Jarod knows better than that. And there's no name over her. Just 'Our Angel.' There aren't even dates for either of them. No way for anyone to know, easily, who they are, making it safe for me to come here.
My eyes dart back to the car, and he's still there, watching me. I want to go to him, to thank him. I don't know how, or why, but this is the only positive thing someone could have done for me right now.
Instead, I remain kneeling between them. My head dips forward, resting on the cool, smooth surface. "I miss you," I whisper, a single tear falling onto the stone, running into the T in his name. "I'm sorry Thomas. I couldn't even keep our child safe. I wish you were here, you never would have let this happen." My eyes shut, and my tears are forced back. "Maybe it would be easier for me to just join you. But you'd tell me that's giving up, and I should never do that. So I won't. For now. For you. I love you Tommy." My lips press against his name, then I rest my cheek against the stone, curling into a ball, and tucking his shirt closer to my body.
~~~~~
"Do you know what you've done to me?" I ask, sitting on the arm of my couch, an arm wrapped around Thomas' shoulders, my cheek against his hair.
"What?" he asks, as he pulls me down, onto his lap. "What have I done to you?"
I lick my lips, and look away from him, at the wall. "You knocked me up and you made me fall in love with you, you bastard," I murmur, keeping my tone light, gentle, to contradict my words.
I feel his intake of breath, as he holds me closer to him. "What?" he whispers, shocked.
I smile. "I'm pregnant. And I love you."
"Oh Megan, I love you too, so much."
As he lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me softly, my arms snake around his neck, holding him close. I feel more at peace than I ever have before, or, knowing my life, ever will again.
~~~~~
It must be almost an hour before I move again. Looking up, I turn back to the car. Jarod's gone. I look back at the graves. "I'll be back, whenever I can," I promise them both, standing slowly, and holding the keys tightly in my hand. As I walk back to the car, I stop long enough to pull a branch from the tree that shades the only people in this world I love.
I walk slowly back to the car, and with a last look toward them, I get inside, shutting the door. As I put the key in the ignition, I notice a cell phone sitting on the seat next to me. There's a piece of paper on top of it.
~ My phone number is the first number in the speed dial. If you need help, or just someone to talk to, call me. I know it's been a long time since you've had my trust, but you have it again, and I only hope I have yours, to whatever degree you can give it. Take care of yourself.
And may I suggest California, for a nice little vacation?
Remember that you're not alone.
Jarod. ~
Taking a deep breath, I start the car, leaving the phone on the seat. Yes, Jarod, I am alone.
~~~~~
Stopping the car at the top of a cliff, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, I climb out, and move to sit on the hood. I've been driving, non-stop since I left the small cemetery, and I just crossed the Oregon/California border about half an hour ago.
The sun is setting. Thomas loved this time of day. After he opened up my mother's studio, we'd watch the sunset in there sometimes. When I was feeling especially upset, or anxious. It's funny, how much I started worrying about the baby. Not really surprising, but almost comical. It usually happened at the exact same time of day. About twenty minutes from sunset, we'd
be in the living room, sitting on my couch. He'd have my feet in his lap, and be massaging my calves. Always. If he got up to my thighs, or on particularly bad days, never got past my ankles, I was fine. But if I wasn't, I'd start worrying. What kind of a mother I was going to be. Who, in the grand scheme of the universe thought that I could handle the job, or should ever have a child near me? He's stop, and take my hands, pulling me up. We'd go into mom's study, and he'd wrap his arms around me. We'd stare out of the skylights, and watch the sun set.
Then he'd make me lie down, and make me food. He was a fabulous cook. Not something I would have expected. And not something I got to sample, until he started worrying I wasn't eating enough for the baby. He was such a doting father, from the moment he knew that I was pregnant. Sure, I was protective. Mother bears had nothing on me. But I think I took it too
far, and he made sure I came back, so I could take care of her, and myself.
The sun has set, and it's getting dark. And cold. I hold the flannel closer to me, all but burrowing inside it. As I slide off the hood of the car, I take another look down the cliff. I could just get in the car, and go over the edge. It wouldn't be hard.
I don't. I get back in, and look into the backseat. I need something, but I don't know what I'm looking for. Feeling around, my hand encounters something soft. I lift the teddy bear, and smile.
~~~~~
"Come on, you'll have fun, I promise." Thomas laughs, it has to be at the look on my face. "Trust me?" he asks softly, taking my hand.
And I can't say no. I may never be able to tell him no again. "Fine, take me to the carnival, Tommy."
He grins. I don't call him Tommy much. Mostly, instead of saying either I love you, or I'm sorry. Not phrases I use often, and his name seems to fit instead.
He doesn't stop smiling the entire night. Every time I look at him, he's smiling. Or laughing.
Once we arrive at the small carnival, he protectively takes my hand, something he does whenever we're in public. I've never explained things about the Centre to him, but he knows enough to not take certain chances. He has ulterior motives this time, however, as he all but drags me toward the midway.
He makes me buy cotton candy. I honestly don't remember if I've ever had it before. If I have, it was so long ago; I forgot how it tastes. Good thing, too. It's incredible. I'm not too sure how much of that is because he's feeding it to me.
Watching him, I let my mind drift for a moment, to him carrying our daughter on his shoulders, as she eats cotton candy of her own. The thought makes me smile, brightly.
"What's so funny?"
Shaking my head slightly, to clear the reverie, I look at him. "Just daydreaming," I mumble.
His grin grows even wider. "You mean you've finally learned how?" he teases me softly, even as he tugs me over to one of those stupid 'show off your skill and win a prize' booths. "What do you want?" he asks, looking over the various stuffed animals. I shake my head. "Nothing," I murmur, even as my eyes fall on a small teddy bear, holding onto a heart almost as big as the bear itself; the words 'I love you beary much' etched across it. "And I think you finally broke through somewhere. For now, anyway," I add, turning away from the booth.
Thomas kisses my cheek, and gives the man some money, proceeding to throw baseballs at wooden pins, knocking them all over. He does it again, and I hear him telling the man what he wants. "For you," he whispers into my ear, as he hands me the bear.
"Thank you," I whisper back, running my fingers over the words.
~~~~~
A single tear, all that I allow, falls from my cheek and lands in the center of the heart. My fingers drag the moisture over the word 'beary.' Settling the bear next to me on the seat, I turn the key, and start driving again.
I have to rest. I haven't in too long, and my body is starting to hurt, my vision is getting a little blurry. Jarod was probably right, I do need to see a doctor, but I've never liked them. In fact, I avoid them as much as possible. Something about growing up
around =Doctor= Raines that did it to me.
My eyes start to droop, and I jerk them open as I hear a car horn blaring. I'd started to swerve into the other lane. Definitely have to stop driving. As I drive into a small town, I find a bed and breakfast. Great. Without even thinking about it, I stop the car, gather up the teddy bear and the small bag I've had with me, and go inside. I get a room for a week.
I haven't felt I could stay anywhere that long, but something tells me that I can, this time. That I need to.
As the door opens to my room, I feel a wave of nausea hit, and everything in my hands hit the floor as I quickly go into the bathroom.
The loud sound of the toilet seat going up sounds in my head, as I clutch at your stomach, knowing I haven't eaten anything to throw up anyway.
My gaze focuses on the white tile of the floor, before my eyes shut tightly.
~~~~~
As I'm lying in bed, almost asleep, I see his face again.
Pale. Lifeless. Exactly like he was the last time I saw him, before the ambulance showed up, before he was taken to the hospital, and his body was released, but no one knows to who.
I can't make my mind find an image of him smiling at me. Or telling me he loved me.
Oh my god. My stomach is cramping; the pain is intense. My hands fly to cover my baby. There's a wet feeling on my thighs. Oh god, please, no. Don't take her too.
I can't remember the last time I prayed, but I am now. Tears fill my eyes, and I move as fast as I can to the bathroom. I can feel the liquid running down my legs, and I see that it's blood, as it starts to hit the white tile floor of the hotel bathroom.
So much blood.
Curling into a ball, I try to fight back the pain. It feels like what I've been told labor is like. I'm crying, and cradling my stomach, my baby. And I'm pleading with god, or whatever might be out there and listening.
But no one is. The pain gets worse, the contractions stronger. I feel more blood, and something else, probably amniotic fluid run from my body to the floor. I don't know how long I lay on the floor; it feels like hours.
I hear a scream coming from my mouth, as I feel my baby leaving my body. "No," I cry, over and over, until the sound falls to a whisper. My eyes look down, at the small, pink body in the middle of the fluid on the floor. She's not moving, I know she's
dead.
My hands shake as I reach for her. I hold her, as my tears turn to sobs. She's so tiny.
And I black out.
~~~~~
My legs are too shaky to stand on, as I finally feel the nausea pass. I crawl across the floor, to the bed, and barely manage to pull myself up. I reach blindly for a pillow, and curl around it, willing myself to sleep.
~~~~~
Something seems wrong to me, but I can't put a finger on it. I turn, looking back at Thomas, who's walking toward me slowly. I smile, watching as he walks, hands tucked into his pockets, grin firmly on his face.
I hear the gun before I see it being fired. I've trained my ear to hear the sound of a hammer cocking, within one hundred feet. I feel my eyes widening, as everything seems to slow, into true cliché fashion, as I see the spark on the gun, watch the bullet
race through the air. Hearing my voice screaming for Thomas, watching as he stops. I can almost feel the bullet tearing his shirt, ripping through skin. As he falls toward the ground, I run as fast as I can, much faster than I thought was possible while pregnant. The concrete makes contact with my knees as I fall next to him.
His blood is everywhere. Deep, bright. Arterial. I watch it for a moment, unable to move. My mouth forms his name, over and over, as I gently turn him, laying his head in my lap. I tell him to hold on, not to leave me, and I yell for help. But there's no one
around to hear me, only the shooter. I'm not worried in the least that he'll shoot me, but I curse as I reach to the small of my back, remembering I'd promised Thomas no gun tonight.
His lips move, no sound leaves them. I keep telling him it'll be all right, only to have his grip on my hand, stronger than he should have been able to muster, silence me. "I will . . ." I hear him rasp out. I hold his hand tighter, and lean toward his mouth. "Always watch . . ." he takes another breath, I see the struggle just to get air to his lungs. "Over you, Megan," he finishes. I
watch the breath, the life, leave his body, as he goes limp against my legs, his grip loosening, his hand falling from mine.
I let out a raged, terrified scream, still cradling his head with one hand. My eyes fly toward the direction the bullet came from, but whoever fired has left. I know they're gone. And I can only think of two people who have this kind of aim, and would do this. Lyle. And Daddy.
~~~~~
I'm shaking, as I open my eyes. Looking around the room, I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. My hands shake as I reach for the bag on the floor, and take out the phone, along with the note from Jarod.
Staring at it, I bite down on my lower lip, until I taste blood in my mouth. The phone falls from my hand, the piece of paper joining it. My hand curls around the bear, and I hug it to my chest, curling into a ball in the middle of the bed.
I miss you Thomas.
~~~~~
It's been a week. Well, six days. And I haven't moved.
The woman who runs this place has come in to check on me a few times, make sure I at least have some water, but it doesn't do any good. I don't have the energy, or the desire, to even get out of bed long enough to shower, or get food. Occasionally, my eyes fall onto the cell phone, just staring at it. I don't want to call Jarod, don't want to ask for his help.
I have to be honest; I don't quite trust him. But I don't trust anyone.
I'm starting to fall asleep again, when the phone rings. I just stare at it, letting it ring, until the sixth ring, and I realize he's turned the voice mail off, and isn't going to give up. Damn. I hit the 'okay' button, but don't say anything.
"Miss Parker, I don't know what you're doing, but I would recommend moving. I think you've been there for long enough, don't you?"
My eyes squeeze shut. "Where are they?" is all I ask. I can't go anywhere. I can't even get out of bed!
"Not too close, I've made sure of that. But it's only a matter of time. I know you haven't even left that room since you got there. I suggested a vacation, not hibernating." God damned logic Jarod.
"What are you doing, following me?" This is why I don't trust him. He knows things. Too many things.
But he made sure Thomas' body didn't end up at the Centre. Or your baby. He got you out of the hotel, before they got to =you,= a voice in my head argues.
"Miss Parker?"
"What?" Try to stay focused, I remind myself.
"Would you like me to help you?" he asks, in a soft voice, almost a whisper.
I swallow, hard. Do I want him to help me? "Help me do what?" I ask, both him and myself.
There is silence on the other end of the phone line. "To keep living," he finally answers, sounding downright sympathetic.
I curl into a ball again, the bear held between my knees and my chest. "Why?" I whisper into the phone.
"Because Thomas would want you to." The answer is so simple. And so hard. "Because curling up and waiting to die isn't your style. It isn't the Miss Parker I've known since we were children."
My breath catches slightly. He's right, damn him. "Maybe I'm not the same person you used to know Jarod," I answer, as my mind argues with itself.
"I know you're not. You've changed, in so many ways." I can almost hear him smile. "Thomas was good for you. He finally got you to acknowledge some of those pieces of your heart, your soul, that you'd hidden away so long ago, you forgot about them. The question becomes, what are you going to do with them?"
"What do you suggest?" I can't allow my brain to process his words. I don't even have the strength to do so.
"Can you drive?" he asks softly, and I hear a rustling on his end of the line.
I look at my shaking hands, and my vision blurs slightly as I sit up. "No," I tell him honestly.
More silence. "Stay where you are. I'll be there in no more than an hour." Before I can respond, he sighs. "I know you haven't been to a doctor. Will you let me at least check you out? I'm worried about possible infection."
Falling back to the mattress, I feel more tears in my eyes. I don't even think I can blame hormones anymore. "I'll let you know when you get here," I answer, biting my lip, and wincing when I catch the wound I'd caused hours earlier. It starts bleeding
again.
"Okay. We'll talk about everything when I get there. You just keep resting."
The line goes dead before I can say anything. Focusing on the wall across the room from me, I just stare, waiting for Jarod to arrive.
~~~~~
The soft knock on my door signals his arrival. Before I can so much as open my eyes, the door slowly opens.
"Miss Parker?" His voice is so damned tentative. I hate hearing that, because he's only doing it out of worry and concern for me. And I don't deserve that. Not from him. "Are you awake?" he asks me softly, as he moves closer to me.
Feeling the corner of the bed dip, I shut my eyes tighter. "No," I answer after close to a minute of silence. "Not enough to matter, anyway." My hands ball into fists, to stop them from shaking.
"Then I'll just sit here, until you are, and be quiet." The bed shifts again, and I feel him lay down next to me. "If this bothers you, tell me," he whispers from somewhere behind me.
"What the hell are you doing?" I ask him in a quiet, harsh tone, not turning toward him. "Why are you even bothering with me? You should have just left me alone Jarod. Let them take me. At least I would have given them a reason to kill me, and this would all have stopped." I finally turn to look at him, trying to understand what's going on.
"The only thing that would have stopped is your life. Nothing else would have changed." He raises an eyebrow, falling silent again. My teeth closer over my lip again. I can't stop the wince, as they hit that same spot. Nor can I control the gasp, as Jarod reaches up, and so very gently brushes my lip out from my teeth. "Don't do that," he murmurs. "You shouldn't be punishing yourself, he wouldn't want you to."
How does he know that what Thomas would want is the only thing that's getting through to me right now? Oh, right, he's Jarod.
"What do you want from me?" I ask him, truly afraid of his answer. So much has changed within me, and an unhealthy dose of fear has taken up residence, where a close to all-encompassing love for Thomas once was.
Jarod's head shakes. "Nothing," he answers, as if it were the most simple thing in the world. "I don't want anything from you that I would have to ask for. I want you to want . . . whatever it ends up being. To keep living. To smile once in a while. Maybe to help your childhood best friend take down the evil, corrupt company that's tormenting both of us." His lips curl, into a small smile. "But mostly, I just want you to be okay."
I stare at him, unable to respond, as I feel the hot, wet sensation of more =fucking= tears on my cheeks. The tears turn to sobs before I can register them enough to try and control it. And then I'm losing all control, my face pressing against the softness of the teddy bear, my legs drawing against my chest. The force of my sobs causes the entire bed, as well as my body to shake, but I barely feel it. I barely even feel it when Jarod's hand comes to rest against my hair, stroking it softly. I know he is, but I can't feel his touch.
And then my sobs stop, almost instantly.
I can no longer feel anything.
~~~~~
I'm standing in my mother's studio. It's the first time I've been in here alone, since Thomas opened it again. The light is bright, from the sun, and I can see her, sitting with a book on her lap, the sun causing her hair to sparkle.
I don't hear Thomas, until his hand is on my shoulder. "Hey," he whispers in my ear, his hands moving to my waist.
I can't stop the smile, as I turn to look at him. "Hi," I answer, laying my hands against his chest. I used to hate the feel of flannel. Maybe I just like the feel of him under it.
"What are you thinkin' about?" he asks me softly, as he kisses my forehead. He never raises his voice to even a normal level, when we're in this room.
"Not much, just . . ."
"Missing her?" he finishes for me.
I nod, looking at him and wondering, again, how he learned to read my mind. "Yes. A lot."
"Do you want children?" he asks, out of the blue, after a few minutes of us just standing in silence.
I feel my shoulders shrugging in response. We've only made love once, and he's asking about children. That really should bother me. And I think it would if it were anyone else asking. "The thought has crossed my mind, once or twice. I guess I've always been worried about the consequences of integrating a child into my life. And I've never had someone around that I
would want to have one with."
"I do. Want children. And I think you would be a very good mother." His smile almost causes my to cry, it's so loving. No one's ever looked at me like that before. "Do you know why I think that?" My head shakes, and he stops it, by kissing my mouth lightly. "Because your mother taught you well." I step closer to him, into his arms, and I hug him tightly. Somehow, he always knows what to say to me. My eyes shut as one of his hands moves to my neck, stroking my skin. "And it's okay to miss her," he murmurs, his mouth hovering near my ear. "You should miss her. Even though she is with you, always."
I take another glance around the room, and look back up at him, smiling slightly. "Yes, she is."
~~~~~
And the feelings all come back.
Pain. Anger. Sadness. And for a brief moment, my hands reach out, grasping Jarod's shirt, as a single sob leaves my body. His fingers curl around a lock of my hair, and something about the movement angers me. I pull my hands away from him shirt, keeping them fisted, as my tears become angry, furious. I hear the screams leaving my mouth, even feel them, I know they're words, but I don't know what I'm saying.
I beat my fists against Jarod's chest, and he lies there passively, letting me. Using every ounce of strength inside my body, I continue to hit him, all the while screaming. Yelling at Daddy, and at Bridgette. At God, for taking Thomas from me, and then taking our child. At Thomas, for leaving me. Through it all, Jarod just lays there. Until I start on Thomas.
I feel his hands, closing around my wrists. Stilling my fists. "Stop," I hear him whisper. My eyes narrow, as I start at where I know his face is; I can't see it because of the tears. "Blame everyone else in the world for all of this, but not him," Jarod continues, his voice still a whisper. "You know he wouldn't have done anything to hurt you."
And the last bit of energy, of strength, leaves my body. I go limp against him. He's right. "I'm sorry," I whisper, over and over again, apologizing for hitting him, but mostly apologizing to Thomas for my words. And I cry, until I've cried myself to sleep.
~~~~~
I open my eyes, looking around. For the first time in months, I haven't had any dreams at all, while sleeping. I almost feel better. At least I don't feel worse.
"You're awake." Jarod always did have a knack for stating the obvious. My head turns toward the sound of his voice.
"Barely," I mumble, looking at him. He's curled his body into a small chair by the bed; it looks as though he's been watching over me. If you sent someone to do the job Thomas, why him?
Jarod slowly reaches a hand over, resting it on my forehead. "Miss Parker, you're burning up. Will you please let me take a look at you? Or take you to a hospital?"
I feel my head shaking, and the movement makes me slightly dizzy. "No hospitals," I tell him, laying further into the pillows. I feel horrible, but I don't want to admit that to him. Shutting my eyes, I sigh, and nod, unable to take either the concern on his face, or the feelings in my body. "Fine, check me out, find whatever's wrong and fix it," I hear myself mutter, curling around the pillows again.
The bed sinks next to me, and I feel his hand against my back. "I can do everything but blood work here," he tells me quietly. "And I can even draw some, and leave to run the tests. But Miss Parker, you have to lay on your back, with your hips toward the edge of the mattress." Refusing to open my eyes, I move slowly, as he instructs. The bed shifts again, as he moves off it. "I know how hard all of this is for you," I hear him saying, somewhere through a deep fog that I'm sinking further into. "Can you take off your pants? I've got a sheet here for you to cover yourself with."
My eyes still refuse to open, as my hands move, seemingly of their own accord, and I remove the material from my body. I don't care about modesty, or that it's Jarod, just about getting this over with. My arms raise again, to cover my face as I continue to lay there. The sheet is gently draped over my hips, and he takes my feet, laying them on the bed so my knees are bent. I force myself into a detachment; this is just like going to my OB. Nothing more. I can feel his hands moving, touching me, probing gently. I bite my lip to stop from crying, but let out a small gasp of pain, when he touches a particularly tender spot.
And finally, he stops. I hear the sound of latex; he must be removing gloves. My legs curl back up to my chest, as I feel him take my arm. "I'm going to draw some blood," he murmurs softly. I nod, barely hearing him. I don't feel the needle, until he's done. The pain is delayed. "Miss Parker?" I hear him ask. My head turns slightly toward him, but I don't respond. "I'm going to give you a shot of antibiotics, then I'm going to go run some test on your blood. I should be back in no more than an hour."
"Whatever," I mumble, needing to sleep. I don't feel this needle at all.
His hand rests on my forehead for a moment. "Sleep," he whispers.
I do, even before the word is fully out of his mouth.
~~~~~
Voices swim around me, I can't make any of them stop long enough to hear what they're saying. I can barely make out tones.
Some are angry, some are sad. A few are sympathetic. One even sounds happy.
Then they all stop. Suddenly. There's nothing but silence, and blackness surrounding me. I turn, moving from side to side, feeling walls all around me, closing in on me.
Curling up in a corner, I shut my eyes, the blackness too much.
I'm scared.
~~~~~
Forcing myself to wake up, I heard Jarod's voice whispering. I roll over, groaning as my muscles protest the movement. He's on the phone.
"She's all right, for now," I hear him say.
"Sydney?" I croak out, my voice almost completely gone, my throat raw and sore.
Jarod turns toward me quickly. He nods. "Hold on," he says into the phone. "He's worried about you," he murmurs, covering the phone. "Would you like to talk to him?"
I would love to talk to Sydney. But I can't. I can barely form thoughts, let alone sentences. "No," I whisper, finding the less volume to my voice, the less my throat hurts. "I can't."
He nods, his eyes understanding. "Syd," he murmurs back into the phone. "I should go. I just wanted you to know we're both all right." I watch as he nods, and shuts his eyes, one of his hands balling into a fist. He loves Sydney so much, I know that. He wishes that he were his father. I don't blame him. "Bye Sydney." As Jarod hangs up the phone, I struggle to sit up.
"Am I okay?" I ask, referring to the tests he ran.
His nod is short, almost curt. "You have a slight infection, which I suspected. Nothing major. A few more doses of antibiotics, and you'll be fine."
Not really surprising. I've felt like I was on the verge of death for days, and I've just been getting sicker. "What now?" I ask, raising my voice, and instantly regretting it.
"Broots has managed to 'find' you in a couple of places in the Midwest, so we're currently being looked for there." I watch him, as he moves and its next to me, leaning down and picking up the teddy bear. It had fallen to floor while I was sleeping. "Here," he says as he offers it to me. "We have a couple of choices. You have one more than we as a collective do." I hug the bear, waiting for him to continue. "For a while, until I can figure out exactly how to make them stop looking for us, we should leave the country. Canada is logical, but we can go further if you want to. Or else we can stay here, and keep running." He stops for a moment, and shakes his head. "Or you can go off on your own, and figure everything out alone."
Damn it, as much as I would like that, no I can't. I can't even take care of myself in a simple bed and breakfast. I feel my head shaking, as I resign myself to accepting his help. "Where in Canada?" I ask, my eyes shutting tightly.
"Alberta," he answers me quickly, obviously having already at least made mental plans. "Lethbridge, it's 65 miles north of the border. From Montana," he adds softly. I don't respond, and I hear him moving to pace the floor near the bed. "They have Michael tracking you now," he tells me, obviously reading my silence as doubt about going with him. "You know how long
you'll be able to avoid him. And what he'll do when he finally does find you."
Oh yes, I know, all too well. Good old Michael, the huge, ape-like man with the heavy Texas accent who had a habit of calling me 'little lady.' Who had taken my gun from me and crushed it into a useless clump of metal with his bare hands. Daddy had brought him in to 'work with me' once he'd realized I'd stopped trying to track Jarod. And once the Tower realized that bringing him back alive wasn't possible. Michael was a computer whiz, putting Broots to shame, and his only job was to bring the DSAs back, and deal with Jarod however he saw best. "Great."
"Not really, no," Jarod answers me, pausing by the bed. "It's up to you, but I'd say we've got no more than twenty-four hours before we have to leave here."
My eyes open slowly. "How long of a drive is it up there?" He smiles. "We'll take it slow, you're still sick." He studies my face; I can feel how intent his gaze is. I have to look at him after a moment. His smile has faded. "Are you going to want me to leave, once we get there?"
Yes. God yes, I want to be left alone. By you, and everyone else. "I don't know. Wanting, and making you leave may very well be two totally different things."
"All right. We'll work that out when we get across the border." I try, and actually succeed, to not flinch when he lays a hand on my forehead. "You still have a little bit of a fever, I want you to rest for a couple of hours, then we need to get out of here."
"Whatever you say, Dr. Jarod," I mumble, still feeling tired. My eyes shut, and I let myself go back to sleep, hoping, fleetingly, that my luck will hold out, and that I won't have any more dreams.
To Be Continued . . .
