DISCLAIMER: The characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. "The Pretender" is a protected trademark of MTM and NBC television, and the characters of that series are used here with no mean intent or desire for remuneration. This is a fan tribute to exceptional television, and the incomparable character, Miss Parker.

However, this particular piece of fiction  belongs to me and shouldn't be used,  distributed or archived without my express permission.

Author's Note: This story is a response to Sarah's challenge on the ParkersPosse list regarding a fic trying to explanation about what could have happened that made J and MP so antagonistic of each other.  I've taken lots of liberties with MP's life --  like the Swiss finishing school, and the circumstances of Tony, etc…    I actually have never seen the Tony Tanaka episode, nor any other episode involving any of MP's ex-boyfriends.  Plus, I actually have no knowledge of how Harvard (or any other US university) allows for accelerated programs.

Special thanks to everyone who responded to my SOS about tP eps - Min, Jung, Carolyn, Gemma, Sue, La Peps, Chely, Jenny and Gena -- you're a great bunch of people.    This one is for you guys!

Rating is R for language and adult content.  Angst and mush at critical levels.  Wear protective clothing.
 
 
 

Not Your Angel Anymore

She stood outside of his 'place,' nervously smoothing the sides of her skirt, trying to gather her poise around her.

*Imagine,* she thought.  *An entire year at that Swiss finishing school, wasted.*  She was trembling, alternately nervous and giddy as a schoolgirl.

A schoolgirl, she thought.  That's exactly what she'd been the last time she'd seen him.  God, has it really been four years?  Four and a half, she thought, if you counted that summer in Rome that had been her high school graduation present.

A summer away that that turned into four and a half years.

How the hell had she let that happen?

*Bull,* she told herself.  She knew exactly how and why.

But she was here now.  She was home.

She took a deep, fortifying breath and knocked on his door.

She heard his invitation to enter, his voice deeper than she remembered, and her heart beat even faster in anticipation.

*Breathe,* she reminded herself as she stepped through the doorway.  *Smile and breathe.*

He was working on his computer, as usual.  She grinned; this was exactly the way she had left him then.  Even with the monitor blocking most of his face, she recognized the little wrinkle in his forehead that meant he was intent on some project.

She always thought that wrinkle was adorable.

"Hello, Jarod.  Sydney told me you'd be in here."

Her mouth turned dry as he looked up and saw her.  For a moment a flash of pure pleasure crossed his face and she smiled in response, in relief.  Then the light died, replaced by coldness. She shook her head mentally. She must be mistaken.  Jarod could be many things, but never cold.  But why did he just sit there?  Wasn't he glad to see her?

Finally, he spoke.  "Miss Parker," he greeted formally, standing up to greet her.  "I had heard you were back."

She frowned .  _Miss Parker?_  She was confused by the frost in his voice, but her initial misgivings were swept away by his sheer presence.

God, he was gorgeous.  He was so… so… male.

She'd met tons of cute guys in school, but they all faded in comparison to him.

When she'd left he was still a boy.  Now he was definitely a man . He'd gotten even taller.  She was 5'10" now, and she was wearing heels, but he was still taller. His body had filled out, but his face had gone the other way --  his face chiseling out, losing the baby fat.

She'd lost hers, too.  Did he notice?
 
 

He didn't know whether to smother her in kisses or shake her senseless.

She was breathtaking.  She'd always been beautiful, but now she was overwhelming.   From the top of her perfectly set hair to the tip of her impeccably manicured pink toenails and everything in between.  Those perfect features.  That incredible body.  Those unbearably long legs.

He hated it.  Every bit of it.  The air of confidence and sophistication, the flawless makeup, the complicated hairstyle, the damn designer clothes.

She'd left a girl -- sweet, shy, vulnerable.  This… _woman…_ looked cool, unmoved, untouchable.   This woman looked at him with knowing eyes -- confident, in control, _powerful._

He even hated her perfume.  It smelled expensive.  Enticing.  _Adult._    It reminded him of Boston, of the world outside. They were all proof that she was now part of that world, a world he didn't know, would never be a part of, was even afraid of.   They bore testimony to the five years she had spent away, without a thought to him.

She never wrote, damn her.  Never called.  When she knew that he was here, wondering, waiting.    She went away and never looked back.  Until now.

Why?

She smiled again, and he hated that, too.  This smile was practiced, purposeful. This wasn't the spontaneous, effervescent grin nor the shy, tentative smile of their childhood.  This was a woman's smile, one she employed to maximum effect.

"'Miss Parker?'"  she questioned huskily.  "I thought we'd moved beyond that."

"Have we?" he returned, still coolly.  "I don't remember.  Then again, it's been so long…"
 
 

She wasn't prepared for this. She had been nervous, but that had been primarily for her own sake.  It had been so long, she'd missed him so much -- she had been afraid she was going to make a complete fool of herself.   That she would say too much, too soon, that she would basically act like a love-struck teenager and embarrass them both.

But she had never been afraid that he would look at her as if he didn't know her.  That he would hold himself away, distant, aloof.  She had never even considered how much distance four years could carve between them.

Four and a half.

She'd changed, but she had never even considered that he would.  But he'd grown taller, his voice deeper and no doubt he'd gotten even smarter.  What else could have changed?

 She'd counted on him not changing.  She had counted on him remaining exactly the same.  _Feeling_ exactly the same.

"It hasn't been _that_ long," she protested softly.  "It's only been…"

"Five years," he supplied tonelessly.

"Four," she corrected, softly.

Four and a half.

He moved further away from her, towards his bookcase and she stood in the middle of his room awkwardly.  She didn't know what to do.  She was confused by his coldness, disoriented by his presence.    She felt like one of those proverbial vampire victims in cheesy horror novels.  Scared and fascinated all at the same time.

He couldn't have forgotten, could he?

He couldn't have stopped…

No, she wouldn't think like that.

Rattled, she brought out her cigarettes and lit one up. She didn't even realize what she had done until he scowled at her.

"When did you start smoking?"  he demanded, the disapproval in his face almost comical.

*Oops,* she thought, guiltily.  She'd forgotten that Jarod was Mister Clean personified.  *Tactical error there.  I guess asking for a martini is out.*

She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Something I picked up in college," she said.

"Hmmm," he answered shortly.  "Among other things, I'm sure."

She cocked her head to one side, starting to get impatient.   He sounded fairly belligerent that time.  Was he angry?

Unable to find anything resembling an ashtray she put out the cigarette in the earth of one of his potted plants.

When she turned back to him he was still watching her with barely-hid displeasure. *What?* she thought, a little irked by his continued coolness.  *I put it out, didn't I?*

"Jarod…" she began, moving towards him, reaching out to touch his arm.

He shifted away, as if he couldn't bear for her to touch him.

She'd had enough.  She went in front of him, arms akimbo. "Goddammit, Jarod, what's wrong?" she demanded.

He glared at her.  "That's what you learned while you were gone?" he demanded back, "To smoke and curse?  What else did you learn?"

She realized then that he _was_ angry, realized what exactly it was that he was so angry about.  Those years away she had seen the world, she had met people, she had learned things.  And all that time he had been stuck inside the Centre.

She'd thought he'd be happy for her, that he'd understand that she needed those years away.  Obviously she was mistaken about this, too.

This time she was the one who drew away, deflated, saddened.  She'd had so much to tell him, so  many stories, so many thoughts, but how could she, now?  How could she share those years with him when all it would bring was resentment and anger?   She'd already hurt him enough.

"So," he said acildy, proving her suspicions.  "How was Italy?"

Italy had been gorgeous.  The museums, the cathedral, the catacombs…  She'd been dizzy with the sights and scents of it, fascinated by the beauty, the culture, the history.  Even years later she could still smell the musty air in the catacombs, feel the textures  of the walls of St. Paul's, hear the street-vendors call out their wares in their colorful accents.

She wanted to gush, to wax poetic about the museums, to tell him how weepy she had felt when she heard the Pope say mass, moved by being in the presence of a truly good man.

But Jarod, who had always been fascinated by Ancient Rome,  had been stuck inside the Centre all these years.  How would he feel, hearing about all that?

"Historical," she answered casually, as if Rome hadn't taken her breath away, as if she couldn't still see it in her mind if she closed her eyes.   "Dirty.  Crowded. Lots of tourists."
 
 

He hated that she could treat it so lightly.  He would have given anything to have been there, to see the catacombs, to view the Sistine, to hear mass in St. Paul's, to tour the Coliseum.  To study the aqueducts and the surviving architectures.   And she was acting like she had gone into some second-rate town somewhere that didn't rate more than a passing glance.

Damn her, he'd never even had the chance to do that.

He'd been excited when she had said she was going.  Slightly resentful, but excited nonetheless.  She would be gone for a month, but she'd be going to Rome.  One of the centers  of civilization.  She had promised to tell him all about it.  But now she didn't care.

What else didn't she care about?

Him?

It was all he could do not to shout at her.  It was all he could do to keep all the words echoing through his head from tumbling out.

*You told me you were going to Italy for the summer, to see the Cathedral, to see the catacombs of Rome, to see the museums.  I waited for you to come back and tell me all about it -- how it felt to touch the cathedral walls, how the air smelled.  You promised to take lots of pictures.  You said you'd bring me a rosary that had been blessed by the Pope.    You didn't say you were going to be gone for four and a half years.  You didn't say you were never going to call, never write, and come back another person.*

*What happened _Miss_ Parker?  Got bored with your fratboys?  Ran out jocks to dazzle? Decided to remember the lovesick boy you left behind?*

But he couldn't say any of that.   If she didn't care, neither would he.  Instead, he asked the next logical question. "How was Switzerland?"
 
 

She took a fortifying breath.  She'd hated Switzerland.  Hated it still.

She had been on her way back from Italy when Daddy called and told her he'd wrangled an opening in that Swiss school.  A major opportunity, he'd told her.  Not to be passed up.   Royal Princesses had to wait in line to go into this school, and Daddy's little girl was going.

He'd been so proud…  How could she say no?  It was only a year.  She could still go home on breaks.  Besides, with Centre technology -- like that new video conferencing thing the tech people dreamed up -- Daddy assured her they'd talk as much as if she were home.

Switzerland had been cold.  Soul-draining.  The Catholic boarding school had been bad, but at least there she had some common history with the other girls.  All that had mattered there was that she follow the rigid schedule and do well in her classes.  She'd had some friends there, she'd had none in Switzerland.  The other girls had been from 'privileged' families. The other girls had been light years ahead of her in worldliness and cruelty.  She'd been a simple American to them, a peasant, a commoner. All her brains, all her talents and all her father's power had disappeared in the light of their titles, wealth and general standing in the world of haves.  She'd been nobody in Switzerland, she'd had no one.  And no one had let her forget it

And they had never let her call home.  Even her mail had been monitored.  That had to be it.  She couldn't believe he really never wrote her back.

She'd been miserable.  She'd been lonely. But how could she tell him that?  *I didn't have any friends.  I was lonely.*  How could she utter such words when he had been here, caged, alone?

"Switzerland was… cold," she answered, lamely.
 
 

He frowned.  Switzerland, probably the most perfect country in existence as far as natural beauty, economics and political ideologies were concerned and all she could say was that it was cold.   Then why did she stay there so long?  Why didn't she call, why didn't she write?

No matter how cold Switzerland had been, it couldn't have been as cold as his life had been in the Centre.

"And how was Boston?"
 
 

She grew even more quiet.  Boston was worse.  She'd _loved_ Boston.  She'd loved Harvard.

The one good thing that had come of her stay in Switzerland was that she'd had lots of time to think.  Lots of time to consider her life, the things she cared about.  And what she came up with was The Plan.

It was a complex and complicated scheme, this plan of hers, but she'd thought it out to the last detail.  She'd diagrammed and storyboarded and flowcharted her entire strategy.  It would take years of hard work and sacrifice, but it would be worth it.  _He_ was worth it.

And the first step of The Plan?  Finish college as soon as possible.

*When you graduate, Angel,* her father had always promised.  *You can do whatever you want then.*

For the first time in her life she made a decision for herself.  She left the Swiss school early and hied herself to Boston, enrolling in some preliminary classes at Harvard in preparation for the fall term.

In retrospect, maybe she should have come home for the summer but she'd decided she didn't want to waste any more time.   According to the schedule she'd drawn up, if she worked really hard and everything went well, she'd be done in three years and she could go home.

But even without that goal, she had loved college.  It had been her first taste of freedom; real freedom  --physical, mental, spiritual. She'd been swept away by it, by the outside world, the sheer  lack of walls.

And the people.  She adored meeting new people, sharing stories,  relating.  She had loved having friends, lots of them.  For once, people were milling around her, vying for her attention, seeking her approval.  She had been a very popular girl and she had reveled in that.

She'd been mesmerized by the availability of ideas, ones she could accept and explore on her own, without being dictated or forced upon her.  She'd been thrilled by the learning.

Most of all she had been exhilarated by the discovery of who she was, minus her father, minus her mother's death, minus the Centre.

But never minus him.

She smiled wistfully in remembrance.  Jarod would have loved Boston, would have adored Harvard, with its scores of great minds and its miles of books.  Would have loved its trees and weather and the smell of the air.

But again, how could she tell him that now?  That she had been happy there?  At least as happy as she could be without him.

"Boston was… exacting," she said, again lamely.  "Very understated.  Very stiff."
 
 

Jarod didn't even try to reason out how that statement made him feel.

"Congratulations on your graduation," he offered coolly.  "Summa cum laude, wasn't it?  And in only three years."
 
 

*Three and a half,* she thought.  She hadn't been able to stick to her schedule after all.  She'd lost one summer and had to make up for it.

"Job offers must be piling up," he continued.

She grinned then, almost overwhelmed with relief. This was it, she thought.  Her opening, her chance to explain.  Why she didn't come home for the summers, why she stayed away so long.

She could explain about The Plan.

"I've already decided where I'm gonna work," she said.  "You wanna hear?"

"Sure," he answered, shrugging carelessly.

"Here."

"What?!"

She beamed at him, proud, excited.  "I started today.  I wanted to work in Corporate but Daddy says I have to work my way up.  So, I'm starting in Security.  I figure I should make Corporate in five years."

"What?"  he demanded again.  "Are you insane?"

She stopped, confused again.  She didn't understand. She thought he'd be happy.  At the very least they would see each other everyday.

"I have a plan," she tried to tell him.

"What?" he demanded.  "To follow in your father's footsteps?"

She was stunned by the venom in his voice.  She knew he didn't like her father, but he'd always been respectful before.  "Well…" she said tentatively.  "Yes, actually.  See… Daddy has to retire sometime.  And I'm the Parker heir --."

"Stop it," he cut her off.  "I don't want to hear it."

"But Jarod, I --"

"Yeah, you have a plan."  He ran his hands raggedly through his hair.  "Get out of it.  Break the contract."

"What?" It was her turn to be surprised.  She shook her head adamantly.  "No!  I want to be _here._  Damn it, Jarod, don't you understand?  One day I'll be Chairman…"

He recoiled from  her in disgust.  "My God," he said harshly.  "You're just like your father.  You don't care.  You don't care who you hurt, what you destroy."

She drew away, stunned, bewildered.  "How can you say that?" she asked hoarsely.
 
 

He'd been ready to pretend he didn't care.  Like it didn't matter.  But this was the final straw.

Work _here?_  Didn't she know how much he hated this place?  How they had taken away his family, his life and kept him locked up like an animal?  Didn't she realize he wasn't the only one?  In the time she'd been gone he'd learned things about the Centre that troubled him.  Disturbing, frightening things.    Nothing solid, nothing he could prove yet, but he'd heard rumours, discovered anomalies…

Didn't she _know_ what the Centre was?

Of course she did.  They'd both grown up here.  Her father was Chairman.

And she wanted to be part of all of it.

She'd left.  Eventually, he could have accepted that.  He even understood why she did.  He would have done the same if he could have found the way.  The strength.  The courage.

But to return to be part of it.

And to remember him, to come to him only because of that.

Four and a half years without a thought to him, and suddenly, because of the Centre,  she was here.

Damn her.

Was that part of her job description, too?  Being his friend, pretending she acred?

He didn't know this person anymore.  And he'd had enough of them dancing around each other, pretending like nothing had changed.   He'd had enough of her lies.

"Tell me about Tokyo," he demanded coldly.

"What?" she asked, disconcerted by the sudden shift of subject.

"Tokyo," he repeated.  "Tell me about Tokyo."
 
 

Tokyo?

She froze, suddenly feeling dizzy.  Oh, God.  He knew about Tony.

"Tokyo?" she repeated, woodenly.

"Your father said you spent last summer in Tokyo.  With a very good friend."

This time she was the one who turned away.  "I'm surprised you cared where I spent my summers," she said stiffly.

"He volunteered the information," he told her.  "He was disappointed you weren't coming home for the summer but was happy you were making _such good friends."_

She closed her eyes, fighting for strength.  Oh God, he knew.

She knew she would have to tell him about Tokyo sooner or later, but she was hoping for later.  She wasn't ready.

Funny how it was always the mistakes that made such an impact in one's life.

She'd worked hard in college, choosing the hardest, most appropriate courses, overloading on them whenever she could get away with it.  She'd studied her ass off.   She'd loved it, but the thing she'd loved most of all was the possibilities it afforded.  She had a goal, and if she was nothing if not tenacious. She'd made friends, flirted with a lot of college boys, but she'd never been distracted.

Except once.  And that had been a mistake.

She'd been well into her third term before she realized that she had been writing all the letters, she had been making all the calls.  She had been so busy that she never even thought to wonder.  But when she started, she couldn't stop.

She had wondered constantly.  Why he never answered her letters.  Why when she'd call he was always been in the lab, too busy with his projects to talk to her.  Why she always seemed to call at a 'critical' moment when he couldn't pull himself away.   Why his infrequent emails -- once she'd wrangled that connection from the Centre tech people --  were always  hurried, casual.  'How are you?  How's the weather?  Busy with my latest project.  Take care.'

For weeks after that realization she had called everyday, begging Syd to bring him to the phone and let her talk to him, begging her father to let him off a project or two so they could talk.  She was lonely.  She wanted to hear his voice.  She wanted reassurance. Finals had been just around the corner so she couldn't fly home. By the time finals were over she'd felt so hurt, so humiliated and so… furious.

There she'd been, planning her whole life around him, and he couldn't even come to the phone.  Didn't he miss her?  Didn't he at least want to know how she was?

Didn't he love her anymore?

So, when summer came again she'd hied herself off with some friends for a vacation overseas.  To get back at him. Just to show him she could be as uncaring, just so she could have a little bit of her pride back.

And then she'd met Tony Tanaka…

_That_ hadn't been part of the plan.  It was just going to be a simple vacation… but she'd been so mad, so lonely…  And Tony had been so dangerous, so exciting, so… different.  He'd been as different from Jarod as night from day.

She was angry, she was lonely.  Tony had been there.  And Tony had wanted her.  He'd been attentive, seductive.  He'd said all the right words, made all the right moves.

She'd been vulnerable.

And God help her, she thought he'd help her forget.  She thought he was a way out.

She thought she could do it.   Didn't she deserve a chance?  To walk away without looking back?  Leave the Centre forever?

She'd never told anyone but she  hated the Centre.  The walls, the darkness, the secrecy.  And she loathed that damn elevator that her Mom had died in.  Why did the two men she loved most in life have to be tied to that place anyway? She'd thought maybe _she_ didn't have to be.  Was that so wrong?

She would have walked away if she could have.  She didn't want to be here, where she wasn't allowed to be herself, where she was reminded everyday of everything that was wrong with her life.  Where she had to see that damn elevator everyday.

God, she had tried so hard.  She had tried everything.  She'd even tried to fall in love with a man as different from Jarod as she could find.

Jarod, who never answered her letters and was always too busy to come to the phone when she called.  His world was the Centre, she understood that.   She just thought, for a while, that maybe it didn't have to be hers.   She'd gone with Tony to see if she could have something else.

But soon she'd woken up and realized it wouldn't work.  She wanted Jarod.  It had been a mistake.

But what could she say now that Jarod would understand?

*You idiot, that's how I know it's you I want.*

*I missed you.  I was lonely.  You didn't answer my letters.  You were always too busy to come to the phone when I called.*

*I needed someone.*

*I was thinking of you.  All the time.*

*Don't you understand? You know me better than anyone.  You used to understand.*

*I stayed away so long so that when I came back,  I could come back for good.  So that I could leave that world with no regret.*

*I came back for you.*

*I didn't have to come back, you asshole.  I could have stayed away.    I had dozens of men eating out of the palm of my hand.*

*I came back for you.  I came back to be with you.*

*Tony didn't mean anything.  I was just hoping he did.*

But how could she tell him that, any of that, when he was looking at her like he hated her?  She remained silent, overwhelmed by guilt.

*It was your fault,* she thought.  *I was lonely.  You never answered my letters.  You never came to the phone.*

If she wasn't feeling so horrible she would have laughed.  Dear God, _that_ was her defense?

She'd been wrong.  She knew that.   Because after doing everything, trying everything she had come home to one horrible, inescapable conclusion.    She loved Jarod more than she hated the Centre.

But The Centre would never let Jarod go.  And if this is where he was…

He loved her.  She believed that.  And she'd overreacted and almost ruined everything.  When she'd left he was starting to have doubts about the Centre.  Maybe he just didn't trust the channels of communication.  And hadn't she been as bad?  She hadn't come home in more than three years.  No doubt he was having doubts of his own.

She'd make it up to him, she'd promised herself.  She'd find a way to make him understand.  Somehow, she'd find a way to earn his forgiveness.  She'd set everything right.

If she had been braver she would have gone home and wept in his arms. She had been so sorry, felt so guilty.  But she couldn't face him then.    Instead, she went back to Boston with a renewed sense of purpose. One more year, she'd told herself.  A year and a half at most,  and her Plan would be in place.

*When you graduate, Angel.  You can do whatever you want then.*

She worked harder than ever.  She gave up everything aside from the studying.  No dating, no flirting, not even the occasional dinner out with friends to break the monotony. It had been  part penance, part regenerated resolution. The friends she'd made soon lost patience with her seclusion and moved on, but she didn't care.  She was back on track.   Her Plan was nearing the next stage.

But still, none of that erased or excused what she had done.

"Tokyo was… nice," she answered finally, huskily.  "But it wasn't home.  This is home."

She looked at him with her heart, her guilt in her eyes, willing him to soften, to understand.

*Please, Jarod,* she thought.  *Please understand.  Please understand what I'm trying to tell you.  You always understood before.  Even when I never said anything you always understood.  Please understand now.*

He continued to look at her coldly, stonily, and she turned away, hugging herself to ward away the chill that seemed to pervade her body.

Oh God.

He had every right to be angry.  She'd left.  She'd changed.  And she'd been with another man. All unforgivable.

But he'd said he loved her.  She'd planned her entire life around those words.  She'd a mistake, she knew that.  What she still didn't know was how to make it right.

She stiffened as he moved behind her, relaxed as he wrapped his arms around her.  For one moment she lost her ability to breathe, overwhelmed with joy and relief.  Everything was going to be alright.  She sighed contentedly and leaned back, enjoying his warmth, his touch.

He leaned forward, whispered softly in her ear.  "Care to show me what you learned in Tokyo?  I read that that Japanese men are very… inventive."

For a moment she was disarmed by his soft tone, his breath on her skin.  Then his words registered, along with the underlying malevolence in his tone. She stiffened and   turned around in his arms, to look into his face.  "Excuse me?" she asked in disbelief, sure she'd misheard him.

"Conquest in Italy,  Switzerland,  Boston and Japan," he mocked.  "My, you do get around.  Decided you were ready for Delaware, did you?"

She understood the anger, but not the insults.    Jarod had always been so courteous, so polite, so tolerant.  So _reasonable._  He had never been consciously mean to a person in his life.   And where could he have learned such things anyway?  The Jarod she'd left had been an innocent, a poet.  Who had taught him to use such words, to attack so viciously?

*God, Jarod,* she thought.  *Who have you been Pretending to be lately?*

"Don't do this, Jarod," she whispered hoarsely.  "Don't be like this."

He brushed the  hair out of her eyes, his touch falsely tender.  "Your… skills… must be world-class by now," he observed.  "Care to give us a sample?"  His face was so near hers that his eyes were all she could see.  And they weren't the soft sweet eyes she remembered.  These eyes were almost sinister in their desire to hurt.

Suddenly, she was angry, too.  That he would use such methods to trick her, to toy with her feelings.  That he could use such a tender tone of voice, such a soft touch to hurt her like this.  That he would play such games.

*Damn you, don't you know what it cost me to do this?  To come back here?*

"Stop it, Jarod," she ordered curtly.  "Let me go."

"What, all of a sudden you've decided to be selective?" he taunted.  "Isn't it a little late for that?"

She struggled, really mad now, but he refused to release her.  "I said stop it."

"Of course," he continued, ignoring her.  "I'm not as good as some you've had.  I haven't had a chance to practice.  The pickings are slim around here and I have standards…"

The touch was still tender, the voice still soft.  The kiss was another thing entirely. It was an insolent, insulting kiss, and an inane part of her wondered where he'd learned it.

For one second she almost succumbed.  She'd dreamt about him so long…

No!  her mind screamed.  Not like this!

Her temper flared, full strength,  to her rescue.

She twisted away, slapped him full on the face and then delivered a swift kick to his shin.

"That's another thing I learned in Tokyo," she spat, furiously.  She wiped at her mouth, an outward show of disgust, but inwardly she was breaking.

*Damn it, Jarod,* she begged mentally.   *Don't be like this.*

He recovered quickly from the blow.  "The insulted virgin act," he noted coldly.  "You do that very well.  It's too bad we both know it's a lie."  He cocked his head scornfully.  "What's the matter _Miss_ Parker?  We're old friends.  Surely, if you could do it with half of the free world you can do it with me.  Though maybe I should ask for a health certificate first."

She wanted to slap him again.  He had no idea how much he was hurting her.  The truth was she'd been dreaming about it, about him for years.  But now he'd ruined that, too, making it sound meaningless and tawdry.  She was starting to really hate him now.

"Like I'd ever let a freak like you touch me," she hissed, aiming to insult,  to hurt him as much as he was hurting her. She wasn't her father's daughter for nothing.   "Get real.  Back then you were the only boy around.  I had to practice on _someone._  And once I was out -- could you blame me?  It was so refreshing to be around _real_ men for a change."
 
 

He could have broken her neck, he was so mad.  She could have denied it, could have tried to explain, but no, she was looking at him coldly, head proudly high, taunting him with her sins.

"No, I can't blame you," he growled.  "If I knew some _real_ women I'd sleep with them, too.  Unfortunately, I only know you."

"You son of a bitch," she hissed.  "You know nothing about me.  You know nothing of  what these last five years have been like."

"I know what you've turned into," he hissed back. "Your mother would weep.   It's good she died  and never found out."
 
 

He knew he had gone too far when she froze, the color draining from her face.  She looked like he had slapped her, or something, which if the truth be known he wanted very much to do.  Then her expression changed,  becoming unreadable, her eyes turning dead and cold.  He could almost see her pull into herself, like a snail retreating into its shell for protection.   For a moment he wavered,  for a moment he was sorry, but the anger overruled any feelings of remorse.  Sure he'd hurt her, but it was nothing compared to what she'd done to him, what she'd been doing to him for the last four and a half years.

He wasn't going to apologize, damn it.  She was the one who'd betrayed him.

She said she loved him.  He'd  believed her.

Liar.

That's all she'd done.  Lie.

Like her father.  Like the Centre.
 
 

She felt like he'd kicked her.  Ironic.

So cold, so cruel… who was this man?  The Jarod she knew would never have been so callous.  Her Jarod she knew would never have hurt her like this.  At the very least, her Jarod was smart enough to know that she would never, _ever_ forgive him for saying what he just did.

*Your mother would weep.  It's good she died.*

This wasn't her Jarod.  This Jarod was cold.  Cruel.  This Jarod didn't care.

It was over.

Five years and she never doubted he loved her.  Never doubted that it was meant to be.  Never even considered that she could be making a mistake.  Coming back.  Giving up what she did.  Loving him.

The girl she'd been would have died.  Would have buckled under the pain, would have burst into useless, hysterical tears.

With almost superhuman control she reined herself in.  That Swiss school served a purpose after all.   If she could stare down imperial princesses, she could stare down this man.

She raised her head and straightened her spine, her blue eyes freezing.

*My mother loved me,* she thought, gathering strength from that conviction.

"I'm just like my father," she agreed, coldly, with as much dignity as she could muster.   "And my mother loved my father."  She smiled, a malevolent mocking smile.   "My father loves me, and my mother loved me.   Who loves _you,_ Ratboy?  I'll tell you.   _No one._  And no one ever will."

She drew away, her voice scathing, her demeanor regal. "You're a freak.  You should be on your knees, grateful that I even considered being friends with you.  I was a lonely little girl with no friends.  I'm not lonely now, Jarod.  I've got a father who loves me, I've got the job of my dreams, I've got friends, and I've got a little black book.  I don't need _you._"  She laughed, lightly, humourlessly.  "And you were right, Jarod.  My 'skills' _are_ world-class.  Too bad you'll never get a chance to prove that for yourself. See, I'm now a lapsed Catholic.  I don't do charity anymore."  With false and perfect aplomb she straightened her clothes,  smoothed her hair and then walked away.  She didn't even flinch when he slammed the door furiously behind her.
 
 

Jarod stared at the closed door, still shaking in anger. He'd never been a violent man, and he'd always thought men hitting women was inexcusable, reprehensible.  He'd never come so close to killing anyone with his bare hands in his whole life.

It was true, all true.  Everything he'd heard, everything he'd suspected.  Everything he'd feared.  This had been what he'd been most afraid of -- that the time would come when she'd look at him like everyone else did, like he was a freak, not a person, and find him wanting.

How could she?  How could she do that to him?  Damn her, how dare she be as shallow as everyone else, as judgmental?

She'd betrayed him.

He'd loved her.  And she'd said she loved him.

Liar.
 
 
 

She made it to her new office before the tears fell.

Damn him, he'd just ruined everything.

She didn't think she had it in her, to hate someone so much.  And she never even considered that there'd come a time when she would hate _him._

She loved him.  She always did.

How stupid could she be?  She'd bet her life on this chance for them and he didn't care. He never cared.  He would never have said those things otherwise.

Or he'd changed, beyond recognition.

He'd never loved her, and he wasn't the man she loved anymore.  Where did that leave her?

Trapped.

The Centre owned her, and all for nothing.

It had made so much sense these last five years. She had a plan, damn it!  But she'd be damned if she told him now.

It had taken her five years but she was in.  She'd worked so college, took all the right courses, passed everything with flying colors.  And it had paid off.   She had proved she was smart enough, strong enough to work for the Centre.  She had convinced her father she was ready start learning how to run the facility that ruled all their lives.

She'd had a plan.

She was the Parker heir.  Someday she would be Chairman.

And on that day, Jarod would be free…

And while he wasn't, at least they could be together.

Damn him, he'd ruined everything.  It was all for nothing.

She let herself cry for exactly ten minutes then dried her eyes determinedly.  He wasn't worth it, she told herself.   There were other fish in the sea.  And she had work to do.

A knock on the door interrupted her study of her first assignment.  She looked up and saw her father standing in the doorway.

"Hi Daddy," she greeted, trying to smile, though her voice was lukewarm.

"Angel, you look tired.  Had a bad first day?"

"I'm fine, Daddy. "

"How do you like the office?"

"It's nice, thanks."  She hesitated.  "Daddy?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"What if I thought I made a mistake?  That maybe I'd rather not work for the Centre after all."

He frowned, disappointment and exasperation evident on his face. "Sweetie, we had this discussion already.  I told you to be sure.  The Centre isn't like ordinary corporations.  That's why the Tower made you sign that contract.  You have to be really committed to work here."

"I know, Daddy, but…"

He stopped her protest with a wave of his hand.  " I know you had a rotten first day, but give it some time.  It'll get better."  He smiled at her, paternal pride lighting his eyes.  "Have I told you how happy I am to have you here, Angel?  You and me, running the Centre -- reminds me of when your Mom was still with us.  I'm so proud of you."

Somehow, she found the strength to smile back.  "Thank you, Daddy."

*Hear that, Jarod?* she thought.   *You can go to hell.  At least Daddy still loves me.*

*I don't need you.*

*Daddy still loves me…*

***

_Five  years later…_
 
 

He watched her clean out her desk, placing the items she removed carefully into a cardboard.   It had been a while since he'd seen her so happy.

She grew lovelier everyday, like one of those night-blooming flowers that thrived in the darkness, bloomed in excrement.

Beautiful, deadly.

And everyday he hated her more.

She thrived on this, the Centre's business.  And now she was in Corporate.  She was one of them now, completely, irrevocably.  She was one of them.

Where was the happy innocent girl he'd loved?

Gone.  She'd gone away for a summer in Italy and they'd killed her.  And in her place they'd placed this monster who never smiled, except when it served a purpose, and who didn't care.  He'd heard rumours about the work she did for the Centre under Security, knew that she never went anywhere without her gun.  According to Sydney she'd been an excellent Cleaner, their best. He didn't know what that was, exactly, but it scared and disgusted him anyway. In three years she was Head of Centre Security.  In five, she'd made Corporate.

The girl he'd loved would never have done those things they whispered about, would never have condoned such pain.  He remembered the day she had whispered her name to him, a secret smile on her face.  He'd never use that name again.  That girl was dead.     _This_ was Miss Parker.

He only wished she wasn't so beautiful.  That she didn't still remind him of that girl.

He'd loved that girl…

Almost as much as he hated this woman.
 
 

She looked up and saw him at the doorway, and her mood was shot all to hell.  He was looking at her with his usual expression of contempt and hatred, and no doubt he'd come to deliver her daily ration of insults.  She was used  to this by now, and for the most part she was immune, his taunts rolling off her back like water off a duck.  The thing that disturbed her equilibrium was that he was a constant reminder of her stupidity, of the bed she'd made and was now forced to lie in.

Back then she thought it was worth it, thought he was worth it.  So what if they were both trapped they'd be trapped _together._

*Silly, stupid girl.    Serves you right.*

"What are you doing out of your cage, Labrat?" she asked coldly, beating him to the punch.   She'd learned that it was better to get her digs in while she could.

"Charming, as always," he retorted.  "Your father really got his money's worth from that finishing school."

"What do you want, Jarod?" she asked, impatiently.  "I have work to do."

"Yeah, warping young minds -- must take a lot of manhours…"

She knew better than to go there.  "It's a living.  Besides, I don't see you doing anything about it," she stated flatly.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," he answered mysteriously,  mockingly.  He made a show of studying the boxes containing her things in preparation for her move to the new office.  "So you finally got out of Security and into Corporate.  Congratulations.  Is it everything you've ever dreamed of?"

She stared at the letter opener on her desk, wondering if he knew just how close he was to death right now.

She was used to killing by now, she'd done it again and again under orders.   It would be easy to stab him in the throat and let him bleed to death.  If she hit his aorta he'd be dead in seconds.   And she'd have the satisfaction of watching him die.  At the very least it would wipe that superior smirk off his face.

No, she couldn't kill him. The Centre needed him, everyone from her Father down had made that perfectly clear.  He was their prize, their number one money-maker, their WonderBoy.   She was even under orders to be polite to him.  She couldn't kill him.

But she wanted to.  Everyday it was a struggle not to spit into his face,  to claw at that mocking expression.  She wanted his blood, damn it.  Sometimes she'd dream of it.

God, she hated him.  It was his fault.  His fault she was still here.  Because of him she'd signed that damn contract that even her father couldn't overturn.

No, it wasn't his fault.  It was hers.  For believing all those childhood fantasies.  For betting on a dream. Smart women, foolish choices, she thought wryly. Served her right for once loving him, trusting him.  For forgetting he wasn't a man, he was a Pretender.  The Centre was his life.

And now it was hers.

She'd gambled her soul for a chance.  She'd lost.  Fair enough.  Now she was paying for her stupidity.  But she'd be damned if she let him hurt her more.  She was stronger.  It would take far more than the likes of him to hurt her now.

She had been young, she had been foolish, she had had dreams.  Forgivable.   She had only one dream now, and that was enough.

Freedom.

She'd tasted it.  For five years she'd been free.

Sometimes she pitied him, sometimes she envied him.  Jarod didn't know how it felt, to be free.  He resented it, not knowing, but he was lucky.  Because if he'd ever been free and was forced to return here he'd die.

She was stronger.  She wouldn't die.  She had a plan.

"Get out, Jarod," she ordered coolly.  "It's time for all good monkeys to go back to their cages."

"While all the bad monkeys get to play outside?" he asked.

"I'm not one of you," she stated coolly.    "You're the monkey.  I'm the zookeeper."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

She didn't answer, knowing he'd soon tire of the game.

She took her Mom's photo off the wall -- it was the last to go -- and placed it in the last box.  Then she sealed it up, and called Building Administration to tell them to take the boxes to her new office.  By the time she put the phone down he was gone.

*Good riddance,*  she thought nastily, but couldn't deny that her thought echoed of another emotion entirely.

She sat down, leaned back on her leather chair and sighed.  Sometimes she forgot herself and remembered, _mourned,_ what she'd given up.  A normal life, a chance to have a family of her own, but it happened less and less often these days.  It was getting easier.  She just focused on her goal and did what she had to do.  Work through it.  Get on.  Survive.

She'd get better.  Corporate was in another sector entirely and Jarod had no access there.   She wouldn't have to see him everyday.

Remembering that brought back some of the pleasure she'd felt before he came in, reminded her of her accomplishment.  She'd made Corporate.  She was on her way.

She was trapped, she accepted that, but she had a plan.

There was only one way out now.  Play the game.  Survive.  One day her father would retire.  One day she'd be Chairman.

And then she'd be free…
 

***

Epilogue
 

Deep in the bowels of the Centre, two men watched as Miss Parker closed the door to her office and left for the night.  On Monday she'd be set in her new office.  The cameras were already waiting.

Surveillance cameras, where would the Centre be without them?

The man in the gray suit stood up and shut off the monitor they had been watching.

"Amazing, isn't it?" commented his companion, who was wearing a blue suit.  "Even though they hate each other so completely they still can't stay away from one another."

"Your experiment is a huge success," the man in gray agreed, solemnly.

"_Our_  project," the man in blue corrected.   "You're the behavioral expert.  Now that she's moving to Corporate we can also move on to the next phase.  Should be very interesting to see just how precisely we can manipulate ---."  The man in blue broke off, noting the strange expression on his companion's face.  "You look sad," he noted.  "Regrets?"

"Some," sighed the man in gray.  "They were such happy children…"

"We're not in the business of happiness," the man in blue responded, his voice hard.  "Remember that.  Everything we do serves a purpose.  Even this."

"Yes, I'm aware of that…  but…" The man in gray sighed again. "Will we ever bring them together again?"

"When the need arises, Sydney.  When the need arises."
 
 

The End
Copyright Jessi Albano 1999
5/11/99 12:07 PM
 

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