Paint It Black

Title: Paint It Black.
Author: Mandy
E-mail: kitty_amazon@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Category: S, crossover.
Spoilers: All of Season 4.
Key words: JMPR, J/O, slash.
Note: Pretender/Now and Again crossover.
Summary: Jarod is recaptured by Miss Parker and a trade of information between
the Centre and Dr Morris is arranged. Michael is confronted with both his
ongoing state of captivity and his feelings for a certain tall, dark and
handsome man...
Disclaimer: The characters and their worlds' don't belong to me, the words and
concepts do.


Paint It Black.
By Mandy.


"Everybody deserves their freedom." His last words to me echo in the cool night.
Perhaps only in my mind. I stamp my feet in the snow and tuck my et aet around
me tighter. Somewhere nearby the Rolling Stones play, 'Paint It Black'. Reflects
how I feel right now.

"Everybody deserves their freedom." Such sad eyes, watching me from the other
side of the limo. His handcuffed wrists bruised.

"Everybody deserves their freedom. Even me Miss Parker."

"Stop it." I mutter to myself, and shiver under the dim halo of the streetlamp.
Snowflakes drift from above. I hate New York in the winter.

"One last favoueforefore you go. Then you're gone for good, I promise." Daddy
had said. I look back over at the limo, where Jarod sits inside. Lucky bastard.
I'm sure the heating is delicious. Sam cracks the window with an electronic
buzz.

"Everything ok, Miss P?" he calls. I nod, waving him off. I hear Jarod say
something, then a low grunt of pain as Sam responds. Don't wince Parker, it
didn't hurt you. I stamp my feet again, wishing I had a cigarette and wishing I
had worn pants instead of a skirt. My nylons aren't much protection against the
cold.

"Hello darkness." A deep voice behind me intones.

"My old friend." I reply. There is a beat.

"Who makes this stuff up? James Bond?" A young male voice jokes. I frown,
turning to face the men behind me.

"Miss Parker, I believe." Says the taller of the two, an elegant black man with
spectacles perched upon his nose. Behind him stands a younger man in his mid-
twenties, indecently attractive and grinning hopefully. I ignore him.

"Dr. Morris. Where is the subject?" I ask coolly. The younger man stiffens
angrily.

"Miss Parker, meet Mr Wiseman... the subject." Morris informs me. I turn, eyeing
Wiseman critically.

"Why is he not properly restrained?" I ask haltingly. Mr Wiseman stands with his
hands in his pockets, looking very cheerful for a man who is government
property. Dr Morris' expression gathers an edge.

"Mr Wiseman knows the consequences should he attempt to escape." I nod, still
studying the specimen. I realised long ago that part of what made the hunt for
Jarod hard was I viewed him as an old friend. My mistake was in viewing him as a
person in the first place.

"Shall we adjourn to my limo? We have much to discuss." I say. I didn't go to
Swedish finishing schools for nothing. Carefully I climb inside, and I send Sam
off with instructions to meet us later. He hesitates.

"Miss Parker, what about Jarod?" he asks. Like I can't handle Jarod.

"If Jarod runs I'll shoot him. Don't be concerned about Jarod." I snarl, and Sam
hurries off, leaving room for Dr Morris and Mr Wiseman to climb into the seats
opposite. While I wait for them to get comfortable, I lean over to Jarod.

"Make a move and uph upholstery is ruined, understand?" I hiss, and settle my
gun on my leg, in plain view. Mr Wiseman stares at it in alarm.

"Is that a gun on your leg, or are you just happy to see me?" he cracks
nervously. Jarod chuckles in amusement beside me. I elbow him sharply in the
ribs.

"My apologies, gentleman, the gun is for Jarod's benefit." I cast a pointed look
at Wiseman, sitting free and easy. "We don't want your labrat giving my labrat
any ideas."

Morris practically bristles at this. As the limo pulls away from the curb he
takes a long moment to study Jarod, noting the bruises on his wrists and face. I
meet his gaze. I will not back down. A few more days and I am free. Beside him,
Wiseman also studies Jarod. Jarod stares at my legs. I remember why I wore the
skirt.

"I must admit Miss Parker, I was not expecting the Centre to be so open to a
meeting. I look forward to the exchange of information." Morris begins politely.
But I am in no mood for chitchat.

"Cut the crap Morris. We both know things went bad between the Centre and the
Pentagon long ago. The only reason you and I are sitting here now is because we
want what you've got and you want what we've got, and neither of us can figure
out a way to steal it." Jarod looks up from my legs, casts a glance at Wiseman,
then moves onto staring at my breasts. Morris smiles without humour. Wiseman
watches Jarod.

"I know what we've got." Wiseman interrupts softly. He looks up to meet my eyes
unflinchingly. "But what have you got?"

"Mr Wiseman..." Morris murmurs warningly. I will meet his challenge.

"Mr Wiseman, meet Jarod. Jarod is, without fail, the smartest human being on the
planet. He is a Pretender, able to become anybody he wants to be." I declare. I
always did have a flair for the dramatic. Jarod frowns beside me, saying
nothing. 'Everybody deserves their freedom,' whispers in my ear again. Get out
of my head you freak.

Wiseman is beginning to look more an more alarmed. He looks at me, then at
Jarod, at Morris and back to me again.

"Oh no." he mutters. Morris frowns in confusion. "Doc you're not... after all
this time... you're not going to dump me and grab Einstein's brain here are
you?" he cries. Jarod looks up sharply. I really, really need a smoke.

"Mr Wiseman, I can assure you... nothing on this earth would convince us to give
up Jarod's brain. It stays put." I murmur. Wiseman looks more confused than
ever.

"So what is it you two want off each other?" he asks. I smile.

"The Centre wants something out of your head, actually. The transmitter. It far
surpasses anything we have designed yet. And Dr Morris here wants a loan of
Jarod. To study him for future projects." I finish. Wiseman stares.

"So where are we going now?" I smile tightly, letting Morris answer that one.

"The Centre and the Pentagon have agreed to a trade. However, I only get Jarod
for forty-eight hours, and a Centre representative must be with him at all
times. We're going back to the townhouse."


****


"Nice place. When do you move the rest of the furniture in?" Parker remarks
sarcastically. Wiseman chuckles in appreciation. I shuffle forward slowly. My
chained ankles don't make anything easy. Morris closes the heavy door and
covertly inputs a code into the locking system. I memorise the numbers.
Parker is right with her observation. The rooms are bare to the point of looking
sterile. A small pool is the focal point of one such room, and I stare at the
inviting water. Oh to be free and float effortlessly. Two days in captivity and
already I miss such things. Miss Parker nudges me. I look up at her sadly, and
she turns away quickly. She keeps a firm grip of the chain on my handcuffs
though.

"It was agreed that the tests- and the forty-eight hours- shall start tomorrow?"
Dr Morris confirms. Mr Wiseman removes his jacket and hangs it up carefully,
then tosses a quick, reassuring smile at me. I don't smile back. Miss Parker
nods, then turns to me.

"We will be staying here tonight Jarod." She says slowly, as if I'm a child. I
understand she's trying to keep her distance, but it hurts anyway.

"Perhaps you could release Jarod from his restraints and Mr Wiseman here could
show him around." Morris murmurs quietly. Miss Parker hesitates for a moment,
then nods. Thank god for small favours. She kneels carefully and unlocks my
ankle shackles, then uncuff's my wrists. Wiseman leads me from the room, showing
me to a small but functional bathroom. I watch the ease with which he walks,
possessing a stunningly attractive body that doesn't belong to him. Beautiful
indeed. In the background I can hear Morris and Miss Parker discussing something
with great intensity.

"I thought you might want to wash up. You can call me Michael, by the way."
Wiseman whispers.

"Thankyou Mr- thankyou Michael." I whisper back. Gratefully I make use of the
facilities, sighing in bliss as I splash water on my face and hands. Its been a
long two days. I emerge from the bathroom to find Michael waiting for me. He
shows me to the gym, explaining in a warm, quiet voice that he works out here
everyday. I nod. Michael seems caught in a moral dilemma, he stands on the gym
floor hesitating for a few moments. Eventually, something wins out.

"Is it true? What she said? Are you the smartest man?" he asks in a low voice.

"Yes. And I suppose its true that they harvested your brain from another body
and put it in this one?" Michael nods and smiles, a beautiful smile too.

"We make an odd couple then, don't we? Get some spandex costumes and we could be
superheroes. You can be Captain Brain and I'll be Mr Strong." he mutters, and
laughs at his own joke. I smile sadly.

"Jarod?" I can hear Miss Parker call. I turn quickly and head for the sound of
her voice. Pissing her off and getting shot isn't very high on my agenda right
now. Michael lopes after me easily, while I walk somewhat painfully. Sam packs a
hell of a punch.

I find Parker standing beside a double mattress that's obviously been set up in
a bit of a hurry. On the other side of the pool I can see a similar bed in a
raised area, obviously Michael's. Her gun and bag are no where in sight, and she
is wearing rather shapeless red satin pyjamas. She gazes at me coolly. The Ice
Queen cometh.

"Where's the Doc?" Michael asks. Parker doesn't take her eyes off me. I check
out her legs, just to annoy.

"Dr Morris left. He will be back at seven tomorrow." She throws me a bundle of
clothes. "Go change." I bow my head, the picture of submission, and limp off
towards the bathroom.

"And Jarod?" she calls after me. "Don't worry about the door. I had Dr Morris
change the codes before he left."

Any hope of escape I had dies with her words. The only chance I have left is
Michael... who is just as much a prisoner as I am. I change quickly, trotting
back downstairs in time to see Miss Parker smiling at something Michael has
said. Jealousy flashes through me, hot and painful. I pause, a few feet away
from them, and watch Michael with suspicious eyes. What if he is one of the
enemy after all? The Centre's conspiracies know no bounds.

"I should go to bed." Michael says, breaking the uncomfortable silence that has
fallen. He smiles, uncertainly, at both of us in turn, then turns and jogs up to
his own bed. Miss Parker beckons me closer, and carefully attaches one bracelet
of the handcuffs to my wrist and one bracelet to hers. She tugs, painfully,
until I follow.

"We're... we're sharing?" I ask nervously as we get closer to the bed. She casts
me a disdainful look.

"Like I'm going to leave you to your own devices." She mutters, and clambers up
onto the bed, pulling me along beside her. She lays down, turning away from me,
leaving only the handcuffed wrist away from her body.

"Goodnight!" calls Michael. Two minutes later the lights click out. Silence
falls heavy.

"Go to sleep Jarod." Miss Parker murmurs, her voice a little more gentle.

"Even Michael has more freedom than me." I whisper. Miss Parker raises her head,
the coldness is back again.

"Go to sleep Jarod."


****


"I'm going to increase the speed now Jarod. Do you feel comfortable with that?"
Dr Morris asks. Jarod nods, his eyes trained on the far brick wall as he picks
up the pace on the treadmill. Electrodes hang from his sweat covered body. Miss
Parker sits near by, leafing through a magazine.

"I wish I had of been in this sort of shape at forty." I mutter, eyeing Jarod's
broad shoulder's and strong arms.

"And this is all because Jarod maintained the diet we've put you on for most of
his life." Doc mutters to me. Whatever. Still doesn't beat bacon and eggs.

"He's forty-one. We think." Miss Parker calls. Jarod's mouth tightens in anger.
The Doc turns around in surprise.

"You're not sure of his exact age?" he asks. Miss Parker pauses from her
magazine.

"It was decided that Pretenders should be unaffected by the outside world. This
is included birthdays. Until four years ago, Jarod was completely free from
contamination." She says the last word like it's a disease. Contamination from
what? Other humans? Morris tilts his head in confusion.

"Four years? What happened four years ago?" he asks. Something I've been
wondering myself. I have a moment of pity for Jarod, obviously furious. He
triggers something in me. Companionship, perhaps?

"He escaped. He was recaptured just two days ago. I myself oversaw his
recovery." Parker responds, and returns to her magazine. Quick as a flash, Jarod
slams his hand down on the emergency stop button, tearing the wires and
electrodes from his body in fury. He rounds on all of us, his heated gaze
directed at Miss Parker.

"Damn you Parker, damn you to hell!" he growls, stepping forward. "Don't treat
me like an animal when you're no better than me, than any of us!" Parker stands,
drawing her gun and training it on his heart.

"Restrain yourself Jarod, or I will do it for you." She tells him. Jarod laughs
bitterly.

"You wouldn't kill me Parker. You may be a bitch, but you're not a killer!" he
takes another step forward. The Doc casts me a look, like I should be doing
something. I'm having too much fun watching to interfere though. It's like a
soap opera.

"You're right Jarod, I wouldn't kill you." Miss Parker says menacingly. Her gun
drops lower, ted oed on his leg. "But I will shoot you if you don't get your ass
back on that treadmill. What will it be, Jarod, your leg or your pride?"

"Enough! Miss Parker put away your gun!" the Doc thunders beside me. Miss Parker
gets a stubborn pout on her face. In a way she almost reminds me of Lisa. A way,
way nastier Lisa who carries a gun. Parker puts away the gun, and Jarod slumps
away in defeat, throwing himself on a bench. The Doc steps forward, calm and
collected in Armani. I know him well enough now to see that underneath the cool
demeanour he is furious.

"Mr Wiseman and I are going out to get some lunch for us all. I suggest, in the
meantime, that you two settle your differences. May I remind you, Miss Parker,
that the trade outlined we have use of Jarod for thirty-six hours. This involves
Jarod being fully operational, having use of all limbs and all vital organs, and
being strictly under *my* control! You two bickering like school children is
unacceptable! Lets go, Mr Wiseman." He storms, and lethe the way out. I snare my
jacket on the way, stepping out into the chill air. Outside, the Doc pauses,
taking several deep breathes.

"You know, their arguments make ours look like lovers quarrels." I joke. We
begin to walk. I see a hotdog stand on the horizon, and start praying.

"I *despise* Centre operatives." Morris mutters beside me.

"Then why deal with them?" I ask. We turn a corner. The hotdog fantasy goes out
the window.

"Sometimes it is necessary, if only to keep up good relations. The Centre is a
very dangerous organization, and the government likes to stay on their good
side." There is a pause in the conversation.

"But how powerful can they be? Why not just send a few CIA or FBI or NSA- some
damn government suits- to knock on their door, how you doing, wham, bam no more
Centre?!" the Doc sighs like the answer is obvious.

"Because, Mr Wiseman, the American government has two very simple reasons for
leaving them alone. First of all, the Centre, although dealing with things in a
most distasteful manner, has had some extraordinary results. And second of all,"
Morris pauses, adjusting his glasses, "They hold more power than the American
government ever could."

I stop dead in my tracks, trying to ignore the bakery I'm standing next to. Did
he just say what I think he said? The Centre, an organization I personally have
never heard of, has more power than the massive institution such as the one that
created me? The one that spent *three billion dollars* creating me? Morris
continues.

"You must remember Mr Wiseman, information is power. The government has
information on how to run countries, how to fight wars and feed millions. This
is a big country, we have a lot of information...but we have knowledge that
directly applies to successfully maintaining a nation. Even you are a part of
that, as you help to uphold thitiontions security.

"Organizations like the Centre aren't bound by these needs. They gather
information for the sole purpose of gaining power, Mr Wiseman. Our government
supports them to have a little piece of this power. But that's not the only
thing to be worried about. You see, we are but one nation, allied with others
admittedly, but when it comes to most things we stand alone. The Centre is
*global* Mr Wiseman. They have the support of the American government, the
German government, the Japanese, the Chinese, the Russian, the British, the
Australians, every major player in the world! The American government is
massive, and perhaps eventually that will be a part of their downfall, because
although small, the Centre is infinitely more powerful."


****


My favourite labrat is obscenely happy as we head back to the townhouse. My
revelations may have left him shell shocked for a few minutes, but that passed
when I led the way into a McDonalds. I was feeling kind. I may live to regret
it.

Under my arm is tucked a few paper sacks full of sandwiches, Mr Wiseman carries
a cardboard tray with a few cups of coffee on it. He's grinning like the
proverbial Cheshire cat, having consumed two big Macs and a chocolate thick
shake while I looked the other way. So to speak. I've never seen a man cram food
into his mouth that quickly before.

"Wanna place bets?" he asks as we mount the shallow steps to the townhouse door.

"On what, Mr Wiseman?" I say as coolly as possible. Distance is the key.

"Which one killed the other?"

I ignore his comment, opening the door and heading to the gym. We both stop in
shock. This is not at all what I expected. Jarod remains on the same bench we
left him on... but now he is handcuffed there. His arms are drawn over his head,
the muscles in his arms straining... however he doesn't seem to be complaining.
Miss Parker is draped over him, her gun at his head. And her mouth sealed to
his. They're kissing like it's a dying art.

"What the...?" Wiseman mutters. My sentiments exactly. Miss Parker raises her
head at the noise, her face flushed and her lips swollen. Jarod pants under her.
She stands, awkwardly, and smooths down her skirt. Flashes a predatory smile,
tucking her gun into the waistband of her skirt.

"We, uh, sorted out our differences." She explains, laughing slightly. Jarod
turns his head away in something I could swear is anguish.

"I'll say." Wiseman ventures. His grin of ecstasy has worn off, replaced with
shock and mild amusement. We cast knowing glances at each other. I knew there
was something else behind the anger. Miss Parker watches both of us for a
moment, then kneels beside Jarod, withdrawing the key to the handcuffs from
somewhere inside her top. Most likely her bra. She undoes the steel bracelets
almost apologetically, helping Jarod to sit up and smoothing back a stray lock
of hair. That almost looks like tenderness. Perhaps there is a warm heart behind
the ice after all. Jarod, however, looks angry, jerking away from her hand. Miss
Parker sets her mouth in a thin line and turns away.

I let Mr Wiseman absorb all this. I have my own agenda in bringing these Centre
agents here. Show him how cruel fate could have been. A subtle message I know he
will pick up. Perhaps now he will be more thankful for my lenience.

"We brought you some lunch." I say quietly, interrupting the little scene. Miss
Parker nods, taking the paper bags and coffee from us. She passes a cup and a
bag to Jarod, who dives in eagerly, pulling out sandwiches and devouring them.
She takes a peek in the second bag, throwing it next to Jarod in disgust. A
Twinkie tumbles out. I hide a smile. My treat to Jarod. In the third bag she
finds more sandwiches, and perches on the edge of a chair to nibble at them
delicately. Mr Wiseman eyes the Twinkie that lies beside Jarod.

"Don't even think about it." I whisper. He pouts beside me. Miss Parker
approaches me warily, half eaten sandwich in hand.

"Doctor Morris, may I have a word?" I nod, leading her away, towards the pool. I
wait patiently while she fights a losing battle.

"About... about what you saw... between Jarod and I..." she murmurs. This hurts
her, I can tell, she wants to fight and scream and yell to get her way.

"Yes?" I encourage. She takes a deep breath.

"I would appreciate it if... if that little incident did not get back to anyone
else at the Centre." Parker says, and suddenly becomes fascinated with the ring
on her finger. I smile, tight and cruel.

"Why, scared you'll lose your job?" I'll watch her squirm, I will. Nobody
deserves to be treated the way she treats Jarod.

"No." She whispers. Didn't think so. She raises her head. And I'm wrong, I'm
horribly wrong. She's crying a bit, a few tears not quite being shed.

"I'll lose my life. And Jarod... Jarod would suffer a fate worse than death."
She chokes a little now, fiercely wiping the tears away. She's strong, Miss
Parker.

"Jarod and I... are complicated. We share a lot of history, and that can't ever
be erased. That's why I'm l anl and callous with his feelings, Doctor Morris,
but he'll suffer more than indignation at the Centre. I can't let myself be his
friend, because I won't watch another person I care about suffer because of me."
She finishes, almost angry, at me or the world I can't tell.

"Rest assured, Miss Parker." I say, desperate to comfort this puzzling woman.

"I'll never breathe a word."

****

"I'm going to monitor your reactions to certain stimuli. Just lean back and
relax, Jarod, I will do the rest." Dr Morris tells Jarod. Jarod nods slowly,
clutching a Twinkie with one hand, an IV hanging out of his wrist. I notice
Wiseman has got a hold of one of the sweets too. Jarod's hooked up to some sort
of machine, electrodes hanging once more from his temples and body. One screen
shows the steady rate of his heartbeat. He is half reclining in a chair,
wearing only the jeans he came in, facing a big screen.

"The lights please, Mr Wiseman." Dr Morris instructs. Jarod casts a furtive
glance over at me. His eyes are soft and appealing, and as Wiseman hits the
lights they shine at me in the darkness.

"Pay attention please Jarod." Morris murmurs quietly. Jarod looks at the
screen. Mr Wiseman moves to sit beside me, grinning.

"What are you so happy about, Captain America?" I hiss. His smile only gets
bigger.

"This is the most fun I've had in weeks. Normally I'm bored out of my brain."
He whispers back. Something flashes on the screen, something I don't catch, and
Jarod flinches. Morris studies the information that comes from the graph, its
little scribbling pens scratching in the silence.

"I'm glad we're proving to be such great entertainment for you." I mutter.
Wiseman chuckles beside me. Some sort of mathematical formula flashes brightly.
Jarod frowns.

"All I'm missing is the popcorn." Wiseman cracks beside me. I turn to look at
him, and something else flashes on the screen. Jarod makes a soft little noise,
like a whimper of pain. Morris is frowning over his readouts, and I can see
Jarod's heart rate speeding up slightly. The flashes are giving me a headache.

"I can guarantee there'll be no making out in the back row of this Technicolor
experience." I mutter back. Wiseman laughs, interrupted by Jarod's soft yelp as
Hitler appears. Morris looks up as Jarod begins to shift with discomfort in his
chair.

"I don't want to...to do this..." he murmurs, almost to himself.

"Pay attention Jarod!" Dr Morris demands. Wiseman loses his smile as Jarod
squirms, his gaze locked on the visions that appear. A bloody child. Doctors
around a patient. A chained circus elephant.

"Hey Doc." Wiseman calls in alarm, watching the heart monitor speed up. Morris
ignores him, poring over the readouts. An EEG, I remember its name now. Christ
on the cross. Moslems throwing rocks at tanks. Pearl Harbour.

"Doc he's freaking!" Wiseman stands up, and Jarod cries out. I've seen this
before. Jarod holds an instant empathy to things he is focused on, truly
focused on, and the feelings he's having are obviously intensified by whatever
drug Dr Morris is pumping into his system. The more pain and suffering he sees
on the screen above him, the more sensitised he becomes to it.

"This is incredible!" Doctor Morris cries, not hearing the things that are
happening around him. Wiseman dashes towards the projector, reaching to pull
the plug out of the wall. A picture of Lyle, my most despised brother, flashes
up. Jarod groans hoarsely, and the room goes dark.

Jarod sobs quietly, and I don't know what to do. I step forward, my hands
useless as they hover over his body. I let one settle on his shoulder, my own
attempt at comfort.

"Kyle. Kyle!" he whispers, brokenly.

"You acted prematurely Mr Wiseman." Doctor Morris growls. Jarod reaches for me,
extending one hand to clasp at mine.

"The guy was about to have a seizure!" Mr Wiseman yells. He turns on the
lights, and Jarod sits up, tugging me closer to rest his head on my hip. I
stare in surprise at him, only half listening to what is happening behind us.

"I had it under control! You simply need to learn a little restraint!" Morris
yells.

"He killed my brother Parker." Jarod whispers, and I nod, moving my hand from
his back to stroke his neck.

"Restraint? I *know* restraint! I know restraint every time I walk away from
my wife, my daughter!" Wiseman yells. I look over at him in surprise. The
subject has a family?

"My baby brother." Jarod mutters.

"And that restraint fails you every time I let you off your leash. Always
remember, Mr Wiseman, I am in control!" Morris says quietly, dangerously. I
realise now is the time I must intervene.

"You're wrong, Doctor Morris. Jarod is Centre property, and as the Centre's
representative I say what goes. It is my responsibility to return Jarod
undamaged, and that includes damage of the psychological variety. Showing Jarod
pictures of his brothers killer and my twin is not helpful. Testing in this
vein shall halt immediately or we shall withdraw from the trade." I state
coldly. I must look a sight, saying such frozen words whilst clutching a
distraught Pretender to my hip.

It seems for a moment that Morris will challenge my words. He glances back and
forth between me, Jarod and Wiseman, who's expression has turned appealing.

"My apologies, Miss Parker, Jarod. I was out of line. I'm afraid I got caught
up in the excitement of the test results and was blind to how upset Jarod was."

He pauses, swallowing his pride with difficulty. "Perhaps we should take a
small interval." He suggests. I nod, slowly. Mr Wiseman sighs, walking away,
and Dr Morris watches him go.

"Once again, my apologies. I would not wish to endanger our trade." He murmurs
again before leaving, perhaps to soothe Wiseman's pride. Or his own.

I look down at Jarod, who stares vacantly at the floor. I realise once again
I've moved on his behalf, to spare his feelings, to spare him pain. Perhaps I'm
getting soft. God knows this afternoon was an unfailing example. I felt like a
Grade A bitch making that comment when the Doctor and Mr Wiseman walked in. I'm
always trying to protect myself, making people believe I have no feelings.
I don't understand what made me kiss him in the first place. One moment we were
fighting and I was threatening him, forcing him into submission with my gun and
the handcuffs. And then I was kissing him. A passionate kiss, truly, but I
still can't understand what drove me to it. This will only make it all the more
harder to leave him behi 'Ev 'Everybody deserves their freedom' whispers in my
ear.

I kneel down beside Jarod, and he draws away from me with tearful eyes. He
reminds me of a child at times like these. Gently I peel the electrodes from
his face and body, ignoring the humming machines around us. Jarod sniffs,
swiping his hand across his eyes. I must protect myself once more.

"Get up Jarod, you're ruining my suit." I say, but softly, gently, letting him
know that the moment is over. He smiles a bit and pulls on his shirt, turning
his back on me. Embarrassed most likely. I study the tears in his shirt. Sam
was a little rough on him. These are the same clothes Jarod was captured in,
and asides from the sweats I brought for him to sleep in, he's been wearing the
same clothes for three days now. Showering and soap can only help so much when
there's nothing else to wear.

"Come Jarod. We're going on an excursion, my treat."

****