"Playing Doctor" (3/6)
By Emily Siazon

Summary and disclaimer in part 1.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jarod hummed as he spooned off a bowl of chicken soup he'd made specifically for Ms. Parker. He wasn't quite sure how exactly it would help her with her fever, but then he vaguely remember hearing somewhere the phrase "catch a cold, feed a fever" and it must have worked if. . . No, wait, that didn't sound right. He frowned, trying to remember what exactly he'd overheard at a diner once. Maybe it was "feed a cold, starve a fever. . ."

A loud thump from Ms. Parker's bedroom brought him out of his ruminations and sent him running up the stairs. He opened her door and found her looking sheepishly at a lamp she'd knocked over. Wearing only her underwear.

"I was hot," was her explanation at her state of undress before she shamelessly plopped down on the bed.

Jarod quickly redirected his eyes towards the painting in the corner, his face turning the same shade as her feverish body. It took minutes of thinking up the unsexiest thoughts he could come up with-a disaster area, a landfill, Richard Simmons in spandex-before he could look in her general direction again and hand her the bowl of soup.

"I. . . I, uh, made you something." Jarod could see her smile at his obvious discomfort. He silently cursed, hating the way she managed to stay in control when they were near while it took all his effort not to sound like a blubbering idiot. "I'll go and let you eat in peace."

He slammed the door behind him before she could respond. He went down the stairs, taking two steps at a time and let out a sigh of relief as he sat down on one of the living room's overstuffed white chairs.

Jarod let out a groan as the half-naked image of her floated in his mind. It seemed that with her far away, his brain didn't think it practical to waste more of its energy trying not to think of her.

"Think of Richard Simmons in spandex," he whispered to himself, his voice tinged with hysteria. There was no way his plan was going to work if he couldn't control himself.

In his effort to divert his attention, Jarod's eyes landed on a picture of Ms. Parker on the mantle, bringing forth another vision of her on the bed, half-naked, with an inviting smile on her lips. His voice grew increasingly desperate as he continued to chant, "Think of Richard Simmons in spandex!"

******

Jarod was right about Ms. Parker being on the bed, but she was nowhere near as underdressed as he'd thought. Not long after Jarod left her room, she felt the earlier chill returning and she covered herself with as many sheets she could find. She'd done such a good job covering herself up that she couldn't untangle herself from them.

"Shit," she muttered, pulling one of the sheets away from her body in hopes of getting it off her but instead tightening its hold around her body. She knew, of course, that this latest dilemma could easily be solved if she asked Jarod to come up and help, but she refused to do it. She'd done just fine on her own so far; besides, she'd never live it down.

Ms. Parker took a hold of another sheet and tugged with all her might, a surprised shriek escaping her throat as it sent her rolling on the bed and down into the hard wooden floor.

******

Jarod had been in the throes of a rather vivid dream involving-- strangely enough--Richard Simmons when he heard a loud noise reverberate from upstairs.

It took him a couple of seconds to get his bearings and to remember why he'd been dreaming about a fitness guru, but when he did, he ran upstairs in a speed that would make Carl Lewis green with envy.

He was panting heavily by the time he'd reached her door, his concerned expression quickly turning to one of amusement as saw Ms. Parker sprawled awkwardly on the wooden floor.

Jarod tried to hide his smile as he walked up to her and held out his hand. "Need any help?"

"No. I'm fine."

He watched her struggle to get up for a couple more seconds before asking, "Are you sure?"

Ms. Parker gave him a cutting look as she exasperatedly yelled out, "Yes!" Her annoyed countenance quickly turned smug as she shakily managed to get up to a squatting position. "See," she said as she tried to straighten up. "I told you I could do it on my. . ." her voice trailed off as the sheet that she'd been standing on was jerked away from her feet.

She let out a surprised yelp and instinctively grabbed on to one of Jarod's sleeves. Unfortunately, her nearness had brought back his earlier thoughts of Ms. Parker smiling at him invitingly. He was therefore unprepared for the extra weight he suddenly carried, sending them both hurtling down on the floor with a loud thunk.

His first thought was that it never looked like it hurt this much when it happened in the movies. He grimaced as he felt Ms. Parker's long nails dig into his arms and he slowly looked down to find her glaring at him.

"Are you planning on moving anytime today?"

Jarod gave her a sheepish smile before quickly getting up, taking back his proffered hand when she directed at him another icy glare.

He felt horrible as he watched Ms. Parker hide a wince while she tried to stand up. She didn't even comment when he fluffed up her pillow before helping her lie down, lending credence to his theory that she was hurt a lot more than she let on.

"Is there anything I can get you? More soup? Some aspirin?"

Ms. Parker tilted her head up to look at him and instantly regretted it. Jarod was tucking the comforter under the bed, his hard muscles flexing under his shirt as he lifted the combined weight of the mattress and her body.

Without thinking, she reached over to stroke his biceps, noting the deep brown shade from hours in the sun. She traced a vein all the way down to his wrist and looked back up when he took a hold of her hand to stop it from moving any further.

"What are you doing?" he asked hoarsely, his tongue flicking out to nervously wet his lips.

She fought back the urge to follow the wet trail he left behind with her thumb, all the while asking herself the same question.

She must be sicker than she thought.

Ms. Parker suppressed a shiver of excitement that resulted from the hunger that she could clearly see in his eyes. It took all her effort to turn her head away from him, not wanting to acknowledge the similar look that reflected back at her from its smoky, brown depth. "I--I think you should leave."

******

"Oxford, Mississippi," Broots stated when Sydney walked into Jarod's last known lair.

"Excuse me?"

"Jarod is in Oxford, Mississippi," the younger man repeated as he excitedly pointed at his computer screen. "Dr. James H. Meredith was famous for being the first African-American student at the University of Mississippi, which is located in Oxford."

"Brilliant, Mr. Broots," Sydney answered distractedly. He suspected that this was another ruse that Jarod made up in an effort to keep them away, but for the life of him still couldn't figure out the Pretender's motive. He did trust the younger man's judgment, however, and decided to go along with it for now. "You can make the reservations while I inform the Centre of our next destination."

******

Jarod stood outside her door, his heart pounding and his mind moving a mile a minute as he tried to understand the latest turn of events.

What had happened in there? He had been tucking her in, his mind finally free of the seductive image of Ms. Parker that he'd carried all day when he felt her hand caress his arm, sending all his blood to rush south as his head filled with even more enticing images of her.

It took all his will power not to lift the hand he held up to his mouth for a kiss, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop just there and would continue on her arm, up to her neck, and then her lips.

Jarod realized that he was painfully gripping the knob of Ms. Parker's bedroom door and quickly let go of it before making his way downstairs.

He had to stop thinking about this; otherwise, he'd have the dubious honor of being the first person to die from sexual frustration.

Jarod headed to the kitchen and tried to distract himself with making preparations for tomorrows breakfast. He almost cried out when he noticed the number of things in it that reminded him of her: from the mug she always used to drink coffee in the morning, the stacks of yogurt in her fridge that he knew she liked to eat for breakfast, and even the potholder with her surname embroidered on it that Debbie had made for her in home EC.

He found her milk carton empty, and though his mind supplied him with hundreds of dishes he could make in the morning without it, he decided to take the opportunity to get out of the house for a while and hopefully clear his head from the dangerous thoughts it insisted on heading towards.

******

The supermarket was surprisingly crowded for nine in the evening. It had taken him forever to get out of there with his single purchase, no thanks to the middle-aged woman in front of him who insisted on paying with a credit card on a cash only line.

Jarod was on his way to the parking lot when the window display of a nearby bookstore caught his eye'.

A picture of a local author, Mark Stevens, stood in the middle, surrounded by his latest book, The Dummy's Guide to Dating, and garish Christmas lights that bathed passing pedestrians in clashing multi-colored lights.

Jarod stopped in his tracks, oblivious to the moisture dripping down his skintight black shirt from the condensing milk carton.

A guide to dating, huh? If anyone needed it, it would be him. His years of living in practical isolation had left him clueless when it came to women and dating. It didn't help that the woman he wanted would probably just as soon see him dead.

Sydney's statement from years before that Pretender's weren't able to fall in love replayed in his head over and over again like a broken record player stuck on the same groove. It almost made him keep on walking to his Lexus, but the promise the book held of a more intimate future with his childhood friend kept him still.

Jarod stood there for a couple of minutes, wracked with indecision. It wasn't until he noticed the appreciative glances from the remaining clerk closing the store for the night that he got the boost of confidence he needed to sheepishly tap on the front window.

"I'm really sorry about this," he apologized as she let him in. "The window display caught my attention."

"You're having dating troubles?" she asked incredulously. "You?"

Jarod blushed and headed straight to the self-help section, picking one of each book at the shelf labeled sex and relationships. "I don't have a lot of experience when it comes to women."

The look she gave him clearly stated that she'd be happy to help him with that, but he already felt bad for leading her on this far and so quickly paid for his purchases and left without another word.

*****

Ms. Parker's house was dark and silent when Jarod got back. He opened his trunk and guiltily looked at his extra purchases.

He silently reminded himself that there was nothing wrong with buying guides to dating women. It was a booming market; millions of other men had done the same.

So how come he felt like a thirteen-year-old boy trying to sneak a Playboy up to his room?

End Part (3/6)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Author's Notes: Please send feedback to

Part 4