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Jarod emerged from the washroom refreshed and decidedly optimistic; he was still alive, after all- a bit bruised, but alive, and he was certain that the latter was entirely unrelated to his lifting Parker's gun while she'd been preoccupied with Sydney.

He immediately sought out his nemesis and childhood friend- - a woman he wanted to trust implicitly, a woman whose trust he'd never tested- at least not to the degree he soon would, that is- - and found her sitting erect in an upright chair, wrapped snugly in his bathrobe, ostensibly waiting patiently, indifferently, for him.

"I trust you're comfortable." He announced amiably.

Parker tossed him a petulant glare, folded her arms across her chest, and then meaningfully swung her gaze towards the several thousand dollars worth of apparel that had been haphazardly draped over a door to dry.

She had trashed the irreparably damaged coat, hand-washed the shirt and slacks, scraped the mud from her heels, and had eagerly searched every square inch of the lodge for her gun, all the while murmuring a litany of obscenities.

Jarod perceived her anger, endeavored to stoically trudge ahead all the same; however, he knew there were boundaries, boundaries that were as absolute and impenetrable as they were invisible, and he knew that the particular glare on her face was clearly a harbinger of trouble, a warning.

He knew better than to follow her gaze; in fact, he was certain that she was daring him to look, and just as certain that she would kill him her bare hands should he glimpse any of her delicate underthings.

Instead, he nodded his understanding, or rather assumption (that she'd be more comfortable wearing her clothes; contrarily, Parker was as comfy as any woman possibly could be given the circumstances, however, she felt quite naked and vulnerable without her gun, and especially when she recalled the events that transpired the last time she'd worn a borrowed robe, sans gun) and then fully entered the room and unceremoniously sat in the only other available chair.

Neither he nor Parker was quite prepared for the uncomfortable silence that followed. She shifted restlessly (to conceal a shudder), gathered the robe tighter around her body- an act that transported Jarod to the stormy evening in Ocee's cottage nearly seven years earlier.

"If you're cold-" He ventured, rising slowly.

"I'm not." Came her brusque interruption, which Jarod responded to by stopping abruptly- - his knees bent in an awkward stance- - somewhere between sitting and rising. With a sigh of discontent, he relapsed into the chair and observed with growing impatience as Parker pinched imaginary lint from the robe.

He opened his mouth to speak, clamped it closed, and then, with ease and swiftness, changed positions, causing the old wooden chair to creak and groan beneath his weight. Finally, quite unable to sit still, he ejected himself from the chair once more. Jarod paced the length of the floor, came to a halt near the old fireplace and emitted a heavy sigh.

Parker's head remained lowered, her eyes seemingly transfixed on the robe; she, however, was quite cognizant of the brooding Pretender, his tangible unease, his dark, rapt gaze fixed on her. He pivoted around, averted his gaze, and dragged a hand through his hair. Parker perceived a sudden stillness and wondered briefly if it signaled an end to his well contained tantrum.

It didn't.

He threw several expectant glances at her over his shoulder, and then studied the floor. His growing exasperation was tempered with equal measures of desperation and guilt- the latter he couldn't explain to himself but he felt it just the same.

Jarod sighed again, and then, suddenly, pivoted and made quick, purposeful strides across the room and right up to Parker.

He felt rather compelled to fill the vacuum of silence, whether it be with compressed conversation or angry, hurtful words- be that as it may, he had vowed to himself that he would not- - under any circumstance- - apologize for walking away, which is why he was rather appalled to find himself doing precisely that:

"There are decisions", He said softly as he dropped to a crouch, "difficult decisions that can feel right at the time; it's only later, in retrospect", he continued, his dark, doleful eyes boring into hers, "that we realize-"

"Sorry", Parker interrupted coolly, leveling a steely glare at him, "will suffice." With that said, she averted her gaze from him, or more specifically, from his hands, the tentative- - hell, conciliatory- - gestures.

"I am. I am sorry." He said with a single, nearly imperceptible, nod. "I am truly sorry if I hurt you."

She wanted to assure him that he had done no such thing, and perhaps issue a threat, or at the very least fire off a caustic retort; however, for some inexplicable reason, she felt that she might choke on her own inhalations, felt empty and stripped bare without her gun, not to mention the strange and rather persistent pressure in her chest, as well a sharp agonizing pain that was tantamount to a blade in her midsection (and she couldn't make any sense at all of the mistiness blurring her vision)- to wit, she could barely draw breath, let alone counter his words.

Her current state- - as baffling as it was to her- - simply would not permit speech. But not because I was hurt! She assured herself and gingerly pressed a discreet palm to her abdomen and listened as Jarod continued, haltingly.

"Because-", here, his voice dropped to a soft whisper, "because that's precisely what I was trying to avoid when I left. You made your decision and I wanted to respect it. I wanted to. I wanted to give you what you wanted; however, I wasn't confident that I-" He paused here, shook his head, and then swallowed the knot of apprehension, "that I could adhere to the rules anymore, to-"

Parker moved suddenly, to no doubt eject herself from the chair, seek refuge at Sydney's side, and- - Jarod opined- - leave him alone and sulking. He refused to allow it. He needed her help, as loathe as he was to admit it; he did not, however, have any desire to resume the old game, fall back into worn patterns, the banter, the limbo, nor did have the time or inclination for lengthy explanations. Besides, words didn't carry much weight with Parker anymore.

Actions, however...

He dropped his gaze to her right hand, noted the way it gripped the battered arm rest, and his resolve was solidified. Jarod, unceremoniously, reached for her hand, observed her gray-blue eyes widen in surprise as she threw herself as far back into the chair- - and away from him- - as she possibly could.

She recoiled from him, from his hand, was considerly nonplussed by his cool impudence. Overwhelmed. Speechless.

Clearly, she hadn't forgotten that brief moment in Glasgow; in fact, as fleeting as the moment had been, her hand still bore his touch, indiscernible to the eye; indelible as a scar.

She refused to make that mistake again, and - - Jarod was disheartened to find- - had not disavowed (and most likely never would) her stance in regards to different endings and turning points. In that moment, he felt justified. And wounded.

Faced with a wall of obstinance, with the same dogged incredulity he'd walked away from years earlier, the hurt and bitterness surfaced, the anger bubbled inside of him.

Jarod thought it odd indeed that her rejection should still sting, that time hadn't healed all wounds after all. Not his and not hers. Especially not hers.

It wasn't anger staring back at him and before he identify what, precisely, he'd seen, it was gone. Her features changed, the wall of indifference had gone back up. Jarod's anger, tempered with concern and sympathy, was short-lived.

"This"- he said with a meaningful gesture not towards her, but rather the ever-present space between them, "is why I left." He explained softly and waited patiently for her to give up the mental search for her gun.

When he was certain that he had her undivided attention, he continued. "Your job was to pursue me. Have you ever asked yourself what would have happened had I stayed?"

She gaped at him in apparent confusion.

"Had I stayed and chosen not to run anymore?" Jarod clarified with one dark, arched brow. "Chosen not to run from you?" He observed as realization touched her features and then he slowly stood. "So, you see now", he asked, "why I had to leave? Yes?"

She responded with a somber nod.

"I thought you might." He said with a smirk before returning to his chair. "So, tell me:", he launched directly into his reason for returning, "have you given any thought at all to my proposition; time is of the essence as you well know."

Parker seemed grateful for the change in conversation and answered straight away. "You are aware of the risks, have no doubt tested the feasibility of implementation- - which is questionable at best- - and I've no doubt you have prepared for every contingency, nevertheless-"

"Just let me worry about implementation and contingencies." He interrupted, somewhat condescendingly.

"You asked for my help." She reminded.

"Yes, I did, but make no mistake, Miss Parker: I have never wanted to involve you, and especially in any exploits that might put you in the Centre's cross-hairs. Raines is dangerous, aligning yourself against him, against the Centre- well, it has proven for many to be quite a precarious, and sometimes deadly, endeavor. Your safety has always been my primary concern. Always."

Parker's perfectly defined brows arched at that bit of news.

"My safety." She repeated. "Has it?"

"Yes." Jarod answered with a nod. "Yes, it has, and will always be. Look: this isn't easy for me. Leaving my family, my life, coming back here-" He paused. "I had no intention of disrupting your life this way, yours or Sydney's. And believe me: asking you for help is the last thing I've ever wanted to do." He continued with a scoff. "I'm desperate."

"Indubitably." She returned peremptorily. "What you are proposing, however,", she purred, mingling in her voice her unique brand of overt arch-mockery with a rather deep-seated comradeship, "is madness."

She observed the change in his countenance, the hardness take shape in his dark eyes.

"Am I to assume then that your answer is no?" He asked, and then stood. "I should have known", he groused, "that this would be a waste a time. I was a fool to return to Blue Cove, to even consider asking you for anything!"

"I don't object to saving the young man." Parker said after several intervals of silence.

"Then what, Miss Parker, is it that you object to?" Jarod inquired, harsher than he'd intended.

"I don't mean to be the proverbial pin in your inflated ego, Jarod", she declared rather matter-of-factly, "however, there is- - invariably- - more madness in your method than actual method."

He pivoted, tossed an expectant gaze at her, impatiently waited for her to expound on the statement. "Some things never change." She added and then observed with a simper tugging at her lips as Jarod fixed her with a wan, longsuffering expression.

"Some things, on the other hand", she continued, "have changed: the Centre. Those old blueprints will no longer aid you in traversing the maze of vents and you certainly will not be tunneling your way off the premises again, Mario- getting in and out the way you always have?" She mocked playfully.

Parker grinned at his double take; he- - quite obviously- - was not fond of the reference to the video game, of being likened to an animated Italian plumber, although he had to admit: endless lives certainly appealed to him.

"Not to mention your source-", she paused here for what Jarod could only describe as a moment of reverence, it was only after several intervals of silence and a rather forlorn sigh that Parker continued, "Angelo has vanished."

"Vanished." Jarod repeated softly.

"You have no one on the inside now that Syd's out of commission, there will be no way out and-"

"I'll find a way!" Came his impassioned interruption.

"You won't be able to help yourself, let alone J.R., and that's why I must object to this lunacy. Have you given any thought to the repercussions if-"

"Raines has my brother's heart!" Jarod choked out the words on a harsh exhalation. "You know what that means! Perhaps you should give some thought to the repercussions if he is successful!"

"If I am going to help you-"

"No", Jarod interrupted rather brusquely, although, his heart soared at her words. If. She was at least willing, and Jarod was buoyed by hope, and yet, he was still extremely wary. "No, you will not insert conditions." He exclaimed.

"I know that I asked for your help, but, Miss Parker, I'm only asking you to help me to an extent, and I think you will agree that you have much to gain from this- this temporary alliance. Remember: I had no intention of even including you in this- well", he amended, "in the implementation, yes, but not in the planning phase."

"Why, may I ask, are you including me?" She inquired coolly; however, as she once again mentally retraced her steps and came to the (rather inconvenient) conclusion that she'd left her gun on the counter (in the washroom), she was feeling anything but cool.

She couldn't for the life of her remember actually removing the holster and placing the gun on the counter. In fact, the last time she recalled the gun being on her person, she was in the Rover, which meant...

Damn him.

"There's no one else I can trust." Jarod answered earnestly.

"Oh", she scoffed mirthlessly, "so you believe you can trust me now?"

"Your mother's voice", Jarod said softly, and then very casually revealed Parker's gun, "is still inside you." He was satisfied with her silence, the reverence, the absence of rebuttal. Parker blinked at the gun and then looked up into the face of her- captor, is it, now?- towering over her.

Parker found the idea comical; she stifled the burst of hilarity before it could wrench itself from her throat and then sedately observed as he dipped his head toward the gun.

She was transported to another time, to her home. Trust your inner sense, Miss Parker. I do.

Enough to give me the gun, to know I won't kill or return him to the Centre.

His confidence- - that bordered smug- - still managed, even now, to pique her anger.

Parker wordlessly accepted the gun.

"So, you'll help me then?" Jarod asked, wearing a look of consummate satisfaction.

"And just how do I know that I can trust you?" She asked pointedly.

He hadn't considered that she'd have reservations about trusting him, but this was the Centre, and her concerns were valid. If he could prove her disloyalty, usurp Raines by swinging a deal with Lyle, he'd not only score points, he'd probably be handed the chairmanship. And Parker would no doubt pay with her freedom, possibly even her life because unlike Jarod, she was- - presumably- - expendable.

The stakes were much higher for her; they always had been.

"There's only one way to find out." He said flatly.

"Oh?" She purred. "And which way is that?" She inquired and then observed the impish grin curve his lips. Jarod answered simply:

"Trust me." 

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