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Stay healthy out there, Fam.
"They didn't have anything with fresh fruit," Jarod announced quietly, entering Sydney's kitchen and closing the door behind him. "But jelly-filled is fruit adjacent and - uh," he grunted when he crossed the threshold to the dining room and glimpsed Parker sitting at the dining table, half illuminated by the light spilling in from the kitchen. "You aren't Nicholas."
"Astute observation," Parker murmured distractedly, writing unhurriedly. "You must be a genius or something," she added lightly, smiling when Jarod quietly chuckled.
"Guilty," Jarod said, amiably. "In my defense I had no say in the matter."
Parker looked up from Sydney's ledgers and several sealed envelopes, and remarked softly, "Fruit-adjacent?"
Jarod smiled, opened the box of pastries, and offered, politely, "Want one?"
Parker shrugged, pushed a hand over her eyes. "Sure," she said.
"Oh, no, no, I've got you," Jarod said when she began to rise. "Milk," he asked, fetching her a saucer.
"No, I have tea."
Tea?
And not scotch?
Hmm.
Jarod stared in disbelief at the tin in Sydney's refrigerator cowering behind Michele's store brand decaf and Sydney's matcha. Parker's tea promised tension relief, calm, sleep.
It was, evidently, a liar.
Jarod was tardy to arrive at the realization that the tin represented pieces—that he hadn't known were missing—of a puzzle he didn't know existed, but, nevertheless, suddenly felt compelled to solve.
"How is Sydney doing today?" Jarod asked, softly.
"His heart rate was elevated during his afternoon nap, but the monitor's been quiet since."
"Could be nightmares," mused Jarod.
"You're the doctor," Parker remarked with a noncommittal shrug. "Apparently."
"Uh-oh," Jarod said with a tight smile, "the secret's out."
"Traitor," Parker snarled.
Jarod gasped dramatically, said with a frown, "Ouch."
"Whatever," Parker returned dryly, feigning genuine hostility, performing so well, in fact, that Jarod couldn't be certain she didn't want to wound him. She smiled brightly, and observed Jarod relax. "At least you aren't a cop. My God, you almost convinced me that an actual police academy let you have a gun. Hilarious."
"Are you going to insult me all morning," Jarod asked with sheepish laughter.
"Mm, no, I have to sleep eventually," Parker answered sweetly.
"Hmm," Jarod hummed. "You should already be asleep."
"Yeah. I'm working on that one."
"Uh- did Nicholas leave already?"
"Mhn, I texted him to stay home with Willow. I covered his shift."
"Why did you do that?"
"Because she's his girlfriend, because she just found out she's pregnant."
"I hope the happy news will motivate Sydney to recover quickly," Jarod said, pouring a measure of coconut milk into a glass.
"Yeah," agreed Parker.
"So-- you've been having some trouble sleeping?" Jarod asked, solicitously, returning the carton to the refrigerator.
"Haven't we all?" Parker answered stiffly.
"Fair enough, but unlike you, Nicholas has taken a temporary leave of absence from work to be here at least six hours each day. You're in the process of cutting ties with a crime syndicate, and that requires tact."
"I have some idea of how eager you are to never have to look over your shoulder again. You don't have to worry about the Centre or the Triumvirate, all right?"
"That isn't what I'm worried about," Jarod said with some incredulity. "Look, I thought you agreed to the shift assignments."
"Right, the scheduling. Y'know, I find it odd that my shift is wedged, conveniently, between the daytime nurse's shift and Broots' so that your path and mine never intersect. Did you arrange that all by yourself, Jarod?"
"Considering the arrangement merely continues the existing tradition of our paths never intersecting, uh, no," he answered promptly, sitting across from her, "I suppose you could say I had quite a bit of help-- from you, which raises the question," Jarod continued, somberly, dropping his voice to a whisper, "why are you here now? Why are you doing this to yourself?"
Parker averted her eyes, smiled shrewdly. "Yeah, I have questions, too," She quietly disclosed. "Were you at the clinic last week?"
"No," Jarod answered indifferently. "Why? Has something happened?"
"I see," Parker remarked numbly. All too clearly. Much too late.
"I don't," Jarod said, cynically. "Tell me why you asked."
"Lyle was feeling paranoid."
"Lyle was," Jarod repeated thinly. "He, evidently, wasn't alone in his paranoia if you had to ask. Was he?"
"I walked right into that one, didn't I," Parker murmured with a grimace of distaste, lifting the cup to her lips.
"Not necessarily. I think you'll agree that reasonable suspicion is far more accurate than paranoia," Jarod whispered, sympathetically.
"Is that a confession?" Parker asked sharply, returning the cup to the table.
"No, but that was an accusation. What, exactly, are you accusing me of?" He asked, softly enunciating her name.
"Nearly three hundred recording devices were confiscated during the emergency security sweep I ordered last month."
"That's good news, right? I'm guessing those findings further justified the decision you made as interim director, and reinforced rumors that the Triumvirate and Centre are targets of international scrutiny, as well as a number of investigations. It's why you've encountered no resistance from the Tower. Or am I missing something?"
"How many of them are yours," Parker demanded hotly.
Jarod shook his head, advised with some solemnity, "The Centre probably should have hired new people years ago."
"Why the hell is that?"
"Because the ones who are working there now are incompetent," Jarod answered, simply.
Parker, incensed by the revelation, expelled a tremulous breath.
"The bad news is they overlooked the obvious," Jarod continued, blithely. "The good news is that video of them overlooking the obvious—and continuing, as we speak, to overlook the obvious—would be quite a useful training tool for new Centre recruits uh, if you weren't shuttering the place."
"Just to be clear, you're saying that you are still recording."
"Yes, that's correct."
Parker drew a breath, shook her head in disgust. "Tell me, Jarod, how many of your devices, exactly, am I going to find in my office?"
"None. I tampered with the Centre's existing intercom system to keep myself a few steps ahead of you, uh, give or take a step," Jarod explained, and observed as Parker's eyes hardened.
"I made it easy for you to evade me indefinitely," Parker snarled quietly, exercising admirable restraint, "when I stopped chasing you."
"Yes," Jarod agreed, "despite the apparent risk to yourself. There were established rules regarding your safety, unspoken ones, and you broke them, and forced me to take measures I ordinarily wouldn't have.
I run. You chase. I held up my end of the deal. You didn't. When Broots arrived, alone, in Tualatin, two months after -after the morning you left the loft I realized that audio alone was insufficient, that I needed eyes inside the Centre at all times to ensure your office was secure, that an explosive device wasn't planted, that Raines wasn't plotting to murder you--- the same way he murdered your mother.
I don't understand how you can be surprised that I care about you. Did I neglect to make it clear to you? Did I?"
Parker, exasperated, closed her eyes tightly. "You---you patched into the Centre after I stopped chasing you? So," Parker mused with a quiet, mirthless snort, "Damned if I did, damned if I didn't?"
"You and I were both damned," Jarod asserted bitterly, and continued with eerily icy calm, "You were trained to hate me regardless of what I did or didn't do, but all I ever wanted to do was protect you, and I'd do it again if I had to live it over. I will never apologize for that."
Parker leaned forward, planted her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.
"And that bothers you," Jarod observed dispiritedly. "Why?"
"My home, car, mobile, landline?" Parker asked, massaging her left temple with a thumb. "Are there cameras here, too, and in Michele's house, Nick's? Broots?"
"No. I haven't installed devices of any kind in your home or car, or here, or anywhere."
"Hours after I retrieved Lyle from the hospital specifically to avoid police involvement you broke into my house and told me you weren't enthusiastic about police involvement either. Either you're lying about listening devices or you were physically in my home when the nurse called. Which is it?"
"Neither," Jarod answered guilelessly. "I don't deny that I've made mistakes. I lost control-- just as you anticipated I would in the event that Sydney was harmed in some way. No," he amended carefully, "I suppose that's not entirely accurate. My reaction wasn't nearly as extreme as the dossier you composed warned it'd be."
"You read it," Parker said with an expression of distaste.
"Hmm, it was quite the riveting piece of fiction. It's true that I love Sydney, and I was angry and afraid enough to want to kill the person responsible for his disappearance. So were you, if I recall correctly. Neither of us killed Ray, however. And I didn't need to listen to your conversation with that nurse to know what would be said. You both adhered to protocol. She freed up another bed and resources, and you protected the Centre from police involvement and subsequent publicity. And I made it possible for you to suspect me of listening. Like I said, reasonable suspicion."
"Are you suggesting that you predicted my behavior?"
"No, of course not," Jarod answered amiably, and then frowned and asked, "Is that why you're here and not at home? Because you're afraid I'm watching you, afraid to go home?"
Parker's answering laugh was mirthless, strained. "Wasn't making me afraid your intention?"
Jarod reflexively drew back from Parker's words, stared in disbelief at her. When he was able to speak his voice trembled. "No, that wasn't my intention. You've been here all month, haven't you? I didn't see your car out-" Jarod said, and fell promptly silent. After a few moments, he rejoined quietly, "Did Broots drop you off?"
"Uber," Parker answered, succinctly. "Afterwards, Michele insisted that I drive her car."
"Because you're car is-- " Jarod faltered, asked carefully, "in the shop?"
"Something like that," Parker answered crisply.
The pair, exhausted from the interrogation, sat in silence. Disarmed by humility and bewildered, Parker picked at the doughnut, heedlessly mutilating it.
Jarod stared at the untouched glass, brooding reflectively and gracefully enduring—perhaps even indulging—self-reproach.
He spoke first, repeated remorsefully, "You've been living here for a month. That means," he added delicately, "you've had the opportunity to look at the files. I was hoping you wouldn't have any trouble with the laptop or passwords."
Parker pressed her fingertips together, swept away powdered sugar. Her anger had completely dissolved. She wasn't certain what had taken its place, or if she even wanted to know.
"Laptop?" She asked.
"You didn't see the note I left you?"
Parker answered Jarod with a somber shake of head, observed his nod of comprehension, his attempts to conceal unease.
"Then you're probably wondering why there's a laptop set up in the library, and about the contents of the note I just mentioned."
"I assumed Nick was bringing work with him."
"Consider the laptop a gift," Jarod said, noting Parker's surprise and confusion. He continued, gently, "I completed the conversion of the audio, image, and video files I stole from the Centre."
"Aww, honey," purred Parker, "you shouldn't have."
"The note I left contains a brief explanation, simple instructions, passwords."
"Well," Parker returned with a snort of incredulity, "thank you?"
"I know you probably aren't eager to revisit the past, but it's important that you know the truth, regardless of-"
"My, we're awfully fucking presumptuous this morning," Parker interrupted fiercely, silencing Jarod. She felt marginally unmoored from reality, and loathed the feeling. "You know about the aversion therapy, about-- everything, don't you?"
"Everything?" Jarod repeated wearily. "No. I know that I saw some images, uh, including one of drug vials, and I read Raines' personal notes. I know he was training you to kill me, that what he did to you should never be referred to as therapy." Jarod drew a tremulous breath, and confessed, "I know that I'm relieved-- no, I'm glad," he amended despondently, "that he's dead."
Jarod stopped himself from confiding a darker truth to Parker, that he believed he'd kill Raines if he were still alive. He feared the truth would frighten Parker; it certainly frightened him.
"And that's all I know with any amount of certainty. I don't know why you shut down. I don't know why you haven't killed me, or why you were planning to leave the country with me. I don't know why you're here now. I-" Jarod fell silent for a moment, and frowned deeply. With an inquisitive tilt of head, he continued, puzzled, "I don't know how you know about Raines' enhanced and sadistic torture measures if you haven't seen or read any of the files."
With a rueful expression Parker haltingly announced, "I think this is where I'm supposed to apologize to you."
"For," Jarod sang with a warm smile, "believing I'm a perverted scopophiliac? Or for accusing me of being vindictive and punishing you by avoiding you? Or for believing that my one true passion in life is to terrorize you-- every single day of yours?"
"Yeah," Parker answered somewhat sheepishly. "It sounds absolutely preposterous, and not at all like me."
"You should probably know that I only stayed away from you because it's what you wanted."
Parker averted her gaze, and announced, dully, to the emptiness, "And he made it worse."
"I don't want to do that," Jarod whispered. "Seven hundred eighty three."
"Seven hundred- what?" Parker asked.
"You voiced doubts seven hundred and eighty three times. You said you were confused, that everything was changing too quickly, that confusion was an understatement."
"And you kept count?" She asked. "Mm, no," she added with a sardonic purr, "that isn't weird at all."
Jarod grinned. "I've had a decade to reflect. If anyone should apologize it's me. I didn't listen to you until you ran away, and even then I was certain-"
"What," Parker prompted when Jarod suddenly fell silent.
"Nothing. I'm sorry," Jarod stammered apologetically, lowering his gaze to the table that separated him from Parker. He was acutely cognizant that so much more than a piece of furniture stood between them, and, in hindsight, appreciated Parker's exactitude.
"Nothing my ass," Parker rebutted, hotly. "What is it? More bad news?"
"Of course not. You know that I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings."
"Oh, yeah, since when?" Parker remarked tartly, and observed Jarod's sudden apprehension. She laughed quietly in response, melting the renewed tension. "You were saying?"
"It's just---that a lot has happened in an awfully short amount of time."
"It's called life, Jarod. What were you going to say?"
"Look," he said reluctantly, "You don't owe me a reason, or the truth. I only ask that you don't lie to me again, or-"
"Wait," Parker interrupted, lifting her hand fractionally from the table. "Are you implying I'm a liar?"
"No," Jarod answered softly with a curt head-shake. "I'm not implying. You conveniently blamed Willie for not returning that morning. That was a lie. You weren't late. You never returned, and I know that because I waited for you. I continued not to listen to you. I was confident you'd come back, so confident, in fact, that I waited eleven months"
"There wasn't a way back," Parker asserted emphatically.
Jarod recoiled from Parker's words, stung and stunned in equal measures. He exhaled a breath, insisted, tearfully, "There is always a way back."
"I didn't see one," Parker confided quietly, "not after leaving that way, and you're wrong, you idiot: the least I owe you is a reason."
Jarod steeled himself, and waited, expectantly, to finally know the answer to a question that had haunted him for a decade.
"But there isn't one," Parker offered meekly. "I didn't even think. I just left, and a day became a week, a year became five, and-and now," Parker drew a breath, marveled at time's swift passage. "Ten years," she exclaimed weakly. "How the hell did that happen? We were-- just talking about rafting the Yoshina, and- and parasailing in Pattaya."
"And sand-boarding in Swakopmund," Jarod contributed softly.
"Skiing in Val-d'Isère," Parker said with a somewhat regretful groan.
"Sleeping under the stars in Étretat."
"Tree camping in eastern Normandy."
"Living in a moated chateau in central Montauban," Jarod murmured.
"Mm," Parker purred. "Sold. How soon can we leave?"
The pair shared smiles that were warm, heavy with sorrow, filled with longing.
"Not soon enough," Jarod said with a deep frown, "was always the answer to that question."
"Yeah," Parker whispered, caressing her empty cup with a finger. "It was a good answer."
"Yes," Jarod agreed wistfully, "but not the correct one, evidently."
Parker coveted Jarod's piercing certitude, and was, surprisingly, wounded by it, by the tenderness in his voice, and truth's immutable brutality.
Her struggle to maintain a placid expression seemed to scream its objections, negate Jarod's statement.
Parker fashioned a smile, swallowed words that were ten years too late, and rose. "I promised Michele I'd call her with an update when you arrived."
Jarod nodded, observed Parker's departure, counted receding footfalls.
"No," Jarod silently murmured Parker's name, "I don't believe me either."
