Chapter Text
Blue Cove, Delaware, in a world very different from the one we know:
The first requirement was death, her mother told her.
They knew this because it had happened once before, the other way around. Allegedly. Their evidence for this was that it happened to him, Jarod, the greatest liar in the world. Parker could be forgiven for having doubts. Nobody was asking her opinion, though. They were too busy strapping her aching carcas to the gurney.
It hadn’t even been one full week back in this concrete hell hole and they were already rewriting her worst fears.
The thing she really couldn’t understand was why. What did they get out of this? They would put her under (down, like a dog) and then revive her so she could tell them about some swell dream she had?
It was weird, even for the Centre. Had they run out of all the other horrible experiments already? Were they scraping the bottom of the barrel? She thought they wanted her alive. It had been her only comfort when they’d cornered her in Florida; that at least they’d keep her alive.
“Sydney,” Parker whimpered.
A dry warm hand clasped her own. She tried to see him from the corner of her eye, but tears blurred her vision. She imagined she could see his calm mask of a face tilting towards sympathy. “I’m here, Parker.”
“Don’t let them do this,” she begged.
Sydney said nothing, but squeezed her hand gently.
“I don’t want to die, Sydney,” she said.
“It won’t be permanent,” Sydney said. “You’ll be okay.”
It won’t be permanent? Parker almost laughed. It would have been more reassuring if this wasn’t the man that had taught her to lie in the first place.
She closed her eyes, and her tears slid down her temples and tickled her ears. It was just one more irritation, one more straw on her broken back, and it sent a tremor of rage through her.
She should have fought harder. She should have pulled out all the stops, run like her life depended on it, because it turned out, in fact, it fucking did! She should have used deadly force before allowing them to bring her back here.
But she had thought her mother, at least, would-
“That’s enough.”
Speak of the devil.
Sydney gave her trembling hand one more squeeze and drifted away. Heels clacked against the floor, announcing her mother’s arrival.
The instinct to open her eyes was excruciating, but she couldn’t face this.
Please, no.
She wasn’t sure if she said it aloud or not.
A hand traced her cheek, wiping away the cold remains of the tear. The familiar perfume almost had Parker disassociating, torn between love and a sorrow so deep it might as well be coded in her dna.
“You’ll be fine,” her mother said, her voice no different than what she once used for a bedtime story.
“Mother,” Parker said. She couldn’t turn her head into the hand or away from it. She didn’t know which one she’d choose if she could. “Mommy,” she said, her voice modulating to that of a ten year old.
“None of that,” her mother said, patting her cheek. The touch was just a bit too forceful, a bit too much like a promise of something worse. “You’ll do just fine.”
Catherine Parker stepped away and Parker hated her for it. She hated herself more for wanting her to come back.
“Jarod,” Catherine said.
“Almost ready, Mrs. P, ” he said cheerfully. Parker could imagine him dressed in a white lab coat, his insistence on dressing the part just one of his many ‘endearing’ quirks.
There was the sound of metal on metal. Parker’s imagination was tempered by her training. She knew exactly what instruments might appear on a surgeon's table, in what order and form. How sharp they had to be to open up skin, fat and muscle like a zipper.
The thing that was getting to her was that this was supposed to be a bloodless procedure: two doses to put her down, as many as it took to wake her up. There was no need for a surgeon’s tools.
Not unless they had something else planned.
Jarod knew exactly what he was doing by drawing her attention to them.
“Jarod,” she said. He lived to torment her, but she’d never thought he’d actually want her dead. That he’d participate in her murder with his own hands.
“Parker,” he answered.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, hoping that maybe, in these circumstances, one of the faint embers of his compassion might be reached.
“I don’t, do I?” he said thoughtfully, like the idea had never occurred until she mentioned it.
Parker’s heart sank. That was sarcasm.
“We could get Sydney to do it instead,” he said.
Sydney coughed harshly.
“Relax, Parker,” Jarod said, approaching the bed. This time, she couldn’t keep her eyes closed. He was indeed wearing a white lab coat. “I survived, didn’t I?”
The first trial. The thing that had given them the terrible idea in the first place.
Jarod’s 'transition between worlds.'
“That wasn’t you,” Parker said.
“My counterpart survived,” he said. “Close enough.”
“You don’t actually know what happened,” Parker said.
“So little faith,” Jarod said, squeezing the air out of the needle. “I’ll have you know I spent weeks reverse engineering the experience.”
This was insane.
“If you have a shred of decency left in you, you’ll stop this,” she whispered. “Jarod, please.”
He leaned over the bed, his face entirely too close. His breath was minty, a minor courtesy she hoped meant he was in a considerate mood. He studied her eyes calmly.
In a quiet voice he said; “It really isn’t that big of a deal. It’s only for a week.”
Parker hated, hated, how much she relaxed at those words. Jarod believed she wasn’t going to stay dead. He was one hundred percent sure of their success.
There’s no way he’d actually kill her.
Not… intentionally.
“If I die,” Parker swallowed. “I’m going to kill you.”
Jarod smiled. “You’ll have to come back first.”
There was a prick on her arm and then nothing.
Parker felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Her cheek was squashed against gritty concrete and her head hurt fiercely.
“Parker,” someone hissed. “Parker, wake up.”
Parker groaned. Her mouth tasted like an ashtray.
“Parker, please.” Was that Jarod? He sounded… upset. “Please wake up.”
“Jarod?” she asked, speech a little slurred.
You’re supposed to be dead. A little slurred speech is nothing.
“Oh thank god,” Jarod breathed. He was strangely quiet, as though afraid of being overheard. What was he up to?
Parker pushed herself up, gritting her teeth against the pain. She paused midway, startled by the sight of her fingers.
The tips were slightly yellow, though the manicure hid the worst of it. She forced the air in and out of her lungs mechanically, trying not to give the panic a foothold. These weren’t her hands.
“Parker?” Jarod asked.
Parker finished sitting up, constricted by her clothes. A blazer and a matching tight skirt. It was a far cry from the Centre's usual gray pajamas. Carefully, mindful of her throbbing head, she turned in Jarod’s direction.
He was sitting on the ground. His arms were spread out to either side, cuffed to the chain link fence behind him. As if this wasn’t enough, his ankles were bound together as thoroughly as a bungee jumper’s.
The weirdest part was the open, honest concern in his eyes.
“Jarod?” she croaked.
“Yes,” he said. “How badly are you hurt?”
“Why the hell,” she had to pause to swallow, her throat was so dry. “Why the hell are you tied up?”
What kind of game was he playing?
Jarod just stared at her.
Parker stumbled to her feet, hobbled by the skirt and paused for the head rush. As she straightened up, she noticed something against her back.
“How hard did you hit your head?” Jarod asked, peering up at her.
Parker ignored him. Slowly, she reached for the firearm tucked into the small of her back. She brought it forward, fingers well away from the trigger and stared at it.
Who the hell would give her a gun?
A loaded one, by the feel of it.
Familiar, in these tobacco stained hands.
“Um, Parker,” Jarod said. “You already got me.”
She looked at him.
“Is the gun really necessary?” he asked.
“Why do I have a gun?” Parker asked.
Jarod’s eyes widened.
Parker curled her lip, angry. “What kind of game is this Jarod? First you try to kill me, and then-!”
Parker stopped abruptly.
Jarod had killed her. She wasn't dead.
She wasn’t dead!
And…
This was the crazy dream she was supposed to have? It felt very real. Jarod had outdone himself, this time. Fantastic production values. She almost believed it.
Parker laughed, and the sound came out all wrong. “You have got to be kidding me,” she said. “Is this all just another one of your sick games?”
Jarod adjusted his posture. It was common when he was ‘dropping the act’ or… starting a new one. Even this new Jarod, though, had kind eyes.
Had he ever pretended to be kind?
Parker might not have made it as far as she did if he had.
“I wish it was,” he said. “It’s not. Things are exactly as they appear. You caught me, and now we’re waiting for transport from the Centre to… take me back.” Understated tension tightened his throat.
“Back?” Jarod was the Centre.
“You win, Miss Parker,” Jarod said. “Congratulations.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she hissed.
Jarod flinched back. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Who are you!?” Parker demanded.
Jarod’s jaw dropped open.
Outside, the sound of a helicopter's rotors could be heard. Parker reflexively ducked against the wall, scanning for the best cover. She breathed carefully through her nose, utterly lost on what to do next.
Well, she could shoot them.
The weight of the gun was comforting.
“What are you doing, Parker?” Jarod asked. “Those are your allies.”
Parker barked a laugh. “That’d be the day.”
“You won’t win a shootout,” Jarod said.
“Watch me. Anything is better than going back there,” she said.
“You- what. I.” Jarod said. “What is going on?”
“I’m not going back,” Parker said. It was her one constant, so it was what she’d do.
“You think I want to? Parker, please,” Jarod said, rattling the cuff against the fence. “Let me go, please let me go, I can help you.”
Parker made the mistake of looking at him.
Of meeting his eyes.
He looked like an animal in a trap. He looked like the friend from her youth. He looked scared out of his mind.
He looked like he expected her to leave him there, even as he hoped she wouldn’t.
“Please Parker,” he said. And then, he said her name. The one everyone forgot. The one thing that was still hers.
“How do you know that name?” she swallowed the unnamed emotion. She had never told him. Everything had changed before she could. As far as she knew, it was the one choice her mother had respected.
“Parker,” he said, snapping her back into the moment. “We’re running out of time.” He looked in the direction of the helicopter. “Please. Let me go. Neither of us need to go back. We can help each other. I can help you.”
Or she could leave him here. It occurred to her, if this wasn’t some elaborate mind game, that these people weren’t after her. If she left him, they’d forget about her long enough to let her escape.
If this was actually real, she was condemning him to her own worst nightmare.
Parker swore.
“Fine,” she snapped, shoving the gun back in its holster. She found keys for the cuffs in one of her decorative pockets and scrambled to unlock the cuffs.
“Hurry,” he said. This close to him she could smell the sweat on him. She could feel the heat of fear, see the minute trembling in his muscles. “Hurry, hurry, hurry. They’re almost-”
“Shut up,” she said, flinging free one cuff and moving to the other.
Jarod started picking at the ropes around his ankles. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Please, please, please.”
Parker didn’t have a knife. There was no way she could carry him. Not in these heels. She looked around for something and came back with a four caster dolly.
Jarod looked at it, then at her.
“What?” She snapped. “I’m not carrying you.”
He shrugged and scooted onto the dolly, still working at the knots by his feet. Parker pulled him along by his shoulder.
“Where are we going?”
He nodded his head in the direction of, presumably, an exit, and she hurried them along. There were stacks of crates, shelving and strange little half walls. On the ground it gave them good cover. Above them, the warehouse was open to the ceiling.
It made it very easy to hear when one of the large bay doors opened.
Parker and Jarod froze. They were still too far from the exit. The dolly wheels made too much noise to keep going.
“What do we do?” she hissed.
Jarod redoubled his efforts on the knots. “You need to distract them.”
“Me? They’ll-”
Actually, what would they do?
The Centre were her allies here? Jarod was their enemy?
Which was the more dangerous assumption: that this was fake, or this was real?
Jarod was giving her a real self-satisfied smirk, like he could tell what she was thinking. If he was anything like her Jarod…
Parker shuddered.
Jarod wasn’t her anything.
“They’ll know something’s wrong,” Parker said.
“They’ll be too focused on securing me to notice,” Jarod said. “You just need to keep them busy until I get these ropes off.”
“And then what?” Parker asked. “You take off and leave me here with them?”
“Parker, they’re not going to hurt you,” he said. “I promise.”
“How do you know?”
“They’re afraid of you. Just keep your head up, refuse to answer questions, and snap at everybody. You’ll be fine.”
Parker tried to imagine people actually being afraid of her. Her mind kept returning to the hidden gun.
“You won’t need it,” Jarod said.
“Stay out of my head,” Parker said.
“Go, I’ll help you as soon as I’m free,” Jarod said.
Parker steeled herself and went.
It wasn’t as hard as she expected. She was greeted with great deference. There were only two men, the rest remained to guard the helicopter.
Apparently Jarod had taken advantage of that weakness in the past.
Parker led them slowly to where she’d first woken up. To stall, she insisted they block off all other exits before attempting to move their captive. She watched imperiously as they worked, wasting a generous ten minutes.
By the time they reached the empty chain link fence, Jarod was ready with his ambush.
It was almost too easy.
They left with the helicopter