Oxford, England, Wednesday afternoon into the evening, local time
To probably no one's surprise, Parker's dad canceled out on a Thanksgiving dinner in Oxford at nearly the last second. She was considering having Chris orb her to Neptune on Thursday, because despite catching up with everyone after a weekend of plague and spontaneous middle age, and Ronan's planned visit she still missed her old friends, and missing her dad exacerbated that. On the other hand, she was trying to make new friends in England, and bailing on the expatriate dinner wouldn't help.
So, late Wednesday afternoon Parker was walking back from the Bodleian with Stella and Ava, and arguing about whether capitalism was a doomed system with Ava while Stella laughed at both of them.
"No, seriously, the system may need reform, but all other economics presume either a controlling state or a homogeneous populace, and you're simply not going to get that kind of global agreement in the current political environment," Parker was protesting.
"Socialism with agreed-upon constraints as we have here is more equitable for the greatest number of the population," Ava insisted.
"You're both quite mad, and helloooo." Stella stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking Ava's way, and forcing Parker to stop as well to turn and face them. "Lovely crumpet, eleven o'clock."
"Not another one of your dreadful-- oh, yum," Ava broke off to run her fingers through her hair as she followed Stella's line of sight. "My, my, what a rather stylish bit of goods."
Parker rolled her eyes, used to Stella's taste for any criminal-type by now, and Ava's addiction to high-end fashion mavens. Without turning around to look in the direction they were ogling she said, "Let me guess: tall, dark and dangerous, wearing leather, probably by Versace and Calvin Klein. Not that there's anything wrong with that," she added, turning around, "but I do prefer men of more... Oh. My. God."
"Yes, he is rather, isn't he?" Ava said, licking her lips. "Dibs."
"I saw him first!" Stella hissed, tilting her head as the man lazily stretched out his legs, then straightened from his slouch against a late-model Ferrari and strode over to them, removing his sunglasses as he approached.
"Ladies." He bestowed a winning smile on Ava and Stella. Then grinned at Parker. "And Parker."
"Jar-- Jay." Jarod. Parker was far enough in shock that she had no idea what her expression was like, but at least her voice came out cool and collected, and she didn't call him by his real name. She suspected she was smiling back at him though, damn him.
Ava's and Stella's heads whipped sideways, and Stella squeaked, "You know him?" Then, after a pause, she added, "How well?"
"Far too well."
"Is that any way to talk to someone who just flew two thousand miles to see you?"
"Three postcards. Six months." Parker looked thoughtful. "Hell yes."
"Do I get to make it up to you by buying you dinner?"
Parker caught herself smiling again, then she turned to her friends. "Say good-bye to the crumpet, ladies."
Jarod blinked at her, and Parker took satisfaction in what might be the last surprise of the night for him. "Crumpet?"
A few hours later, after Indian food, and public discussions of archaeology dives, mountain-climbing, and coffee-maker stealing, Parker and Jarod made their way back to her suite at Dolphin Quad.
"...so. Why are you here?" Parker asked, opening the door to her suite. "You said you couldn't contact me for a while. And you pretty much implied I wouldn't be seeing you unless it was completely safe. What's changed?"
"Hmmmm?" Jarod looked around curiously, examining the suite for clues to Parker's roommates and her daily life. Comfortable furniture, overstuffed but shabby, which obviously came with the suite. A hot plate, jury-rigged with many power strips; a lace shawl barely covering a microwave. Bookcases stuffed with Chinese history, Economics, Engineering, and English, all mixed together; and a separate bookcase full of Political Science texts. One chair was pulled out into a corner, with its own lamp and throw pillows. The one near the window was the one Parker probably used most, since it had one of her satin afghans thrown over it, but slippers too small to be hers nestled beneath it. The pictures on the walls were a mix of Parker's Neoclassical prints, photos of a city somewhere in a desert, and Price-Waterhouse romanticism.
Two roommates who shared space relatively well with Parker, never the easiest person to be around. And one other, who defended her territory ferociously, to the point of excluding the others.
Also: study aids everywhere. Laptops closed but still powered up, or plugged in. Security. Safety. Peace and time to think. Exactly what he'd wanted for Parker, because it was exactly what he'd wanted for himself for so long; a place to rest and learn that was not a prison. Fandom had come close, but been far too small in scope for either of them.
Incrementally, Jarod relaxed, and raised an eyebrow at her. He picked up a piece of paper, then wrote down: Is it safe to discuss this here? and then held it up for Parker to read.
She rolled her eyes, and then stalked into one of the bedrooms, returning with a small bug-detecting wand, tracing it across the floorboards, electrical outlets, the furniture, the computers, the windows, and the door-frames in silence before tossing it to him. Jarod examined it carefully, then grinned. "Angelo's work?"
"From a design by Bridge, yes," Parker said, folding her arms. "Happy now? I sweep at least once a week. More often if I'm going to have guests. You had to be pretty confident this place would be safe to even consider walking in here, though. And that I'd be safe to visit. So. Why are you in England?"
How much to tell her, he wondered. That was always the risk, with Parker. Not just could she be trusted-- which was most of the time, under most circumstances. But did she need to know?
And on the whole, she rarely did.
"A project," Jarod said, making himself comfortable on the leather couch. "I needed to research a few things in London. Your father and most of his associates are in Abu Dhabi until Christmas. The main Centre office in London is on half-staff. It's a good time to be here, even without my reasons."
"Of course," Parker said, her voice dry. She crossed the room to take the chair by the window and curl up in it, studying him. "Should I even bother asking about it?"
"It's more fun if you figure it out later," Jarod teased. Truth, as far as it went.
"Fun for whom?" Parker retorted, but smirked back at him. "You know how crazy that makes me. Although I did like the touch with the girl's kidnappers in New Zealand, being left for the police. And the archaeological dive manager who ended up in a mental hospital in Saigon? Classic."
"Thank you. I like to think I'm refining my modus operandi as I go."
"That's one description of it."
"What would yours be?"
"Improving your torture skills?" Parker's eyebrows went up, and he could see she was only half-joking.
"Ouch." He gave her a wounded look. "The goal isn't inflicting pain. Just teaching a lesson. And exacting a little justice. They end up feeling like their victims did: helpless. Powerless. Afraid."
"Revenge. Sydney never taught you those kinds of lessons."
"No. I learned them from other Centre sources." Jarod turned away from her, getting up to prowl around the room, memories of various 'lessons' bringing back the trapped feelings associated with them. "Raines. The Sweepers." He slanted a glare at her. "Your father."
"My father--" Parker cut herself off and rubbed her temples. "Do we have to have to have this fight again? It's boring. You know the script as well as I do."
"And yet I keep hoping the ending will change." She still wasn't ready to cut ties with her family yet. Maybe never would be. Jarod leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he studied her. "You know what he is. You of all people know exactly what he's done, and what he's capable of."
"And you know of all people know why it doesn't matter." Parker got up to pace, not looking at him. "I have things I have to do. It can't matter."
Jarod bit back on his next response, which was, Is it revenge or family driving you, Parker? and took a breath. "Can we start this over?" He pushed off from the wall. "I have a few extra days to waste here. Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. I'd like to spend it with someone I care about."
Parker's expression went from irritated defiance to confusion to wary acceptance. "I..." She folded her arms in imitation of him, and said, "You could come along to the expatriate dinner I'm attending. We've even got cranberry sauce." Her lips twitched sideways. "I have a date on Saturday, though. I could break it, but..."
"Who with?"
"No one you know."
"I assumed that much."
"And no one you're going to know, either. I don't see any reason to go down that road." Parker gave him a warning look, then settled into the chair in front of her laptop. "Now. I am glad you came to visit. I am glad you're going to the dinner with me tomorrow. I refuse to have a fight with you when you just got here. We can do that next week." She smirked gently, and flicked her fingernails at him. "Shoo. Go. Crash in whatever corner you've managed to appropriate for yourself. I have three more pages of Chinese history to write before tomorrow."
Jarod frowned, eyes narrowing, but before he could say anything, the door to the hallway opened, and the taller, dark-haired girl who'd been with Parker earlier came in, laughing with a young Arabic woman. They both stopped just inside the doorway after closing the door, looking from him, to Parker, and back. "Are we interrupting?" The shorter girl asked hopefully.
"No," Parker and Jarod chorused, then Parker glared at him as Jarod started to grin.
If you can't have the argument you want, have the one you're given.
"Hello! You must be Parker's roommate Nourhane," Jarod stepped forward, hand out, his smile as wide and welcoming as he could make it. "Hi again, Stella. We weren't really introduced. I'm Jay."
"Ahhh, this is the one who--"
"Yes," Stella interrupted Nourhane hastily, and Jarod could see Parker starting to bristle out of the corner of his eye. "Yes, right, the one who's here just for a little visit, correct?"
"I am, but my timing? Could be better. Right, Parker?" He threw her a smile over his shoulder, and turned back around before she finished rolling her eyes. "She has to finish her Chinese history paper, so I can't stay." He paused, looking from Stella to Nourhane. "I wonder... no."
"Ja-- Jaaaay," Parker said warningly, and he winked at Nourhane, who giggled.
"Wonder what?" Stella asked, looking hopeful.
"Could you two ladies tell me where I could get a good cup of coffee here in town?" he asked, giving them his best puppy-dog eyes. He could almost hear Parker grinding her teeth behind his back. "I'm still jet-lagged, and I don't want to go to sleep yet."
"We can show you!" Nourhane jumped in, grinning conspiratorially at him. "There's a pub, the Slag, just down the street, great chips and beer, and a decent coffee."
"Great! My treat, for both of you," he said, reaching for the doorknob. "We don't want to disturb Parker while she's working on her paper, do we?"
"Oh, you're right."
"Jay!" Much sharper now, suspicions that he was Up To Something confirmed. He waved at Parker without looking around as Nourhane smothered another giggle.
"And you can tell me how she's doing here in England," he added, holding the door for Stella.
"Certainly, that would be lovely," she responded, as Nourhane waved cheerfully at an aghast and irritated Parker, who looked ready to stamp her feet at being left alone to her homework.
"And you can give us all the dirt on her. Bye, Parker!" Nourhane sang, ducking under his arm to follow Stella.
"Bye, Parker," he mimicked and smirked at her as he shut the door.
The growling was audible in the hallway, and he was pretty sure that was one of her books hitting the door behind them.
Which was followed by a phonecall in the interests of avoiding first degree murder.
[nfi, nfb, ooc, etc.]
So, late Wednesday afternoon Parker was walking back from the Bodleian with Stella and Ava, and arguing about whether capitalism was a doomed system with Ava while Stella laughed at both of them.
"No, seriously, the system may need reform, but all other economics presume either a controlling state or a homogeneous populace, and you're simply not going to get that kind of global agreement in the current political environment," Parker was protesting.
"Socialism with agreed-upon constraints as we have here is more equitable for the greatest number of the population," Ava insisted.
"You're both quite mad, and helloooo." Stella stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking Ava's way, and forcing Parker to stop as well to turn and face them. "Lovely crumpet, eleven o'clock."
"Not another one of your dreadful-- oh, yum," Ava broke off to run her fingers through her hair as she followed Stella's line of sight. "My, my, what a rather stylish bit of goods."
Parker rolled her eyes, used to Stella's taste for any criminal-type by now, and Ava's addiction to high-end fashion mavens. Without turning around to look in the direction they were ogling she said, "Let me guess: tall, dark and dangerous, wearing leather, probably by Versace and Calvin Klein. Not that there's anything wrong with that," she added, turning around, "but I do prefer men of more... Oh. My. God."
"Yes, he is rather, isn't he?" Ava said, licking her lips. "Dibs."
"I saw him first!" Stella hissed, tilting her head as the man lazily stretched out his legs, then straightened from his slouch against a late-model Ferrari and strode over to them, removing his sunglasses as he approached.
"Ladies." He bestowed a winning smile on Ava and Stella. Then grinned at Parker. "And Parker."
"Jar-- Jay." Jarod. Parker was far enough in shock that she had no idea what her expression was like, but at least her voice came out cool and collected, and she didn't call him by his real name. She suspected she was smiling back at him though, damn him.
Ava's and Stella's heads whipped sideways, and Stella squeaked, "You know him?" Then, after a pause, she added, "How well?"
"Far too well."
"Is that any way to talk to someone who just flew two thousand miles to see you?"
"Three postcards. Six months." Parker looked thoughtful. "Hell yes."
"Do I get to make it up to you by buying you dinner?"
Parker caught herself smiling again, then she turned to her friends. "Say good-bye to the crumpet, ladies."
Jarod blinked at her, and Parker took satisfaction in what might be the last surprise of the night for him. "Crumpet?"
A few hours later, after Indian food, and public discussions of archaeology dives, mountain-climbing, and coffee-maker stealing, Parker and Jarod made their way back to her suite at Dolphin Quad.
"...so. Why are you here?" Parker asked, opening the door to her suite. "You said you couldn't contact me for a while. And you pretty much implied I wouldn't be seeing you unless it was completely safe. What's changed?"
"Hmmmm?" Jarod looked around curiously, examining the suite for clues to Parker's roommates and her daily life. Comfortable furniture, overstuffed but shabby, which obviously came with the suite. A hot plate, jury-rigged with many power strips; a lace shawl barely covering a microwave. Bookcases stuffed with Chinese history, Economics, Engineering, and English, all mixed together; and a separate bookcase full of Political Science texts. One chair was pulled out into a corner, with its own lamp and throw pillows. The one near the window was the one Parker probably used most, since it had one of her satin afghans thrown over it, but slippers too small to be hers nestled beneath it. The pictures on the walls were a mix of Parker's Neoclassical prints, photos of a city somewhere in a desert, and Price-Waterhouse romanticism.
Two roommates who shared space relatively well with Parker, never the easiest person to be around. And one other, who defended her territory ferociously, to the point of excluding the others.
Also: study aids everywhere. Laptops closed but still powered up, or plugged in. Security. Safety. Peace and time to think. Exactly what he'd wanted for Parker, because it was exactly what he'd wanted for himself for so long; a place to rest and learn that was not a prison. Fandom had come close, but been far too small in scope for either of them.
Incrementally, Jarod relaxed, and raised an eyebrow at her. He picked up a piece of paper, then wrote down: Is it safe to discuss this here? and then held it up for Parker to read.
She rolled her eyes, and then stalked into one of the bedrooms, returning with a small bug-detecting wand, tracing it across the floorboards, electrical outlets, the furniture, the computers, the windows, and the door-frames in silence before tossing it to him. Jarod examined it carefully, then grinned. "Angelo's work?"
"From a design by Bridge, yes," Parker said, folding her arms. "Happy now? I sweep at least once a week. More often if I'm going to have guests. You had to be pretty confident this place would be safe to even consider walking in here, though. And that I'd be safe to visit. So. Why are you in England?"
How much to tell her, he wondered. That was always the risk, with Parker. Not just could she be trusted-- which was most of the time, under most circumstances. But did she need to know?
And on the whole, she rarely did.
"A project," Jarod said, making himself comfortable on the leather couch. "I needed to research a few things in London. Your father and most of his associates are in Abu Dhabi until Christmas. The main Centre office in London is on half-staff. It's a good time to be here, even without my reasons."
"Of course," Parker said, her voice dry. She crossed the room to take the chair by the window and curl up in it, studying him. "Should I even bother asking about it?"
"It's more fun if you figure it out later," Jarod teased. Truth, as far as it went.
"Fun for whom?" Parker retorted, but smirked back at him. "You know how crazy that makes me. Although I did like the touch with the girl's kidnappers in New Zealand, being left for the police. And the archaeological dive manager who ended up in a mental hospital in Saigon? Classic."
"Thank you. I like to think I'm refining my modus operandi as I go."
"That's one description of it."
"What would yours be?"
"Improving your torture skills?" Parker's eyebrows went up, and he could see she was only half-joking.
"Ouch." He gave her a wounded look. "The goal isn't inflicting pain. Just teaching a lesson. And exacting a little justice. They end up feeling like their victims did: helpless. Powerless. Afraid."
"Revenge. Sydney never taught you those kinds of lessons."
"No. I learned them from other Centre sources." Jarod turned away from her, getting up to prowl around the room, memories of various 'lessons' bringing back the trapped feelings associated with them. "Raines. The Sweepers." He slanted a glare at her. "Your father."
"My father--" Parker cut herself off and rubbed her temples. "Do we have to have to have this fight again? It's boring. You know the script as well as I do."
"And yet I keep hoping the ending will change." She still wasn't ready to cut ties with her family yet. Maybe never would be. Jarod leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he studied her. "You know what he is. You of all people know exactly what he's done, and what he's capable of."
"And you know of all people know why it doesn't matter." Parker got up to pace, not looking at him. "I have things I have to do. It can't matter."
Jarod bit back on his next response, which was, Is it revenge or family driving you, Parker? and took a breath. "Can we start this over?" He pushed off from the wall. "I have a few extra days to waste here. Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. I'd like to spend it with someone I care about."
Parker's expression went from irritated defiance to confusion to wary acceptance. "I..." She folded her arms in imitation of him, and said, "You could come along to the expatriate dinner I'm attending. We've even got cranberry sauce." Her lips twitched sideways. "I have a date on Saturday, though. I could break it, but..."
"Who with?"
"No one you know."
"I assumed that much."
"And no one you're going to know, either. I don't see any reason to go down that road." Parker gave him a warning look, then settled into the chair in front of her laptop. "Now. I am glad you came to visit. I am glad you're going to the dinner with me tomorrow. I refuse to have a fight with you when you just got here. We can do that next week." She smirked gently, and flicked her fingernails at him. "Shoo. Go. Crash in whatever corner you've managed to appropriate for yourself. I have three more pages of Chinese history to write before tomorrow."
Jarod frowned, eyes narrowing, but before he could say anything, the door to the hallway opened, and the taller, dark-haired girl who'd been with Parker earlier came in, laughing with a young Arabic woman. They both stopped just inside the doorway after closing the door, looking from him, to Parker, and back. "Are we interrupting?" The shorter girl asked hopefully.
"No," Parker and Jarod chorused, then Parker glared at him as Jarod started to grin.
If you can't have the argument you want, have the one you're given.
"Hello! You must be Parker's roommate Nourhane," Jarod stepped forward, hand out, his smile as wide and welcoming as he could make it. "Hi again, Stella. We weren't really introduced. I'm Jay."
"Ahhh, this is the one who--"
"Yes," Stella interrupted Nourhane hastily, and Jarod could see Parker starting to bristle out of the corner of his eye. "Yes, right, the one who's here just for a little visit, correct?"
"I am, but my timing? Could be better. Right, Parker?" He threw her a smile over his shoulder, and turned back around before she finished rolling her eyes. "She has to finish her Chinese history paper, so I can't stay." He paused, looking from Stella to Nourhane. "I wonder... no."
"Ja-- Jaaaay," Parker said warningly, and he winked at Nourhane, who giggled.
"Wonder what?" Stella asked, looking hopeful.
"Could you two ladies tell me where I could get a good cup of coffee here in town?" he asked, giving them his best puppy-dog eyes. He could almost hear Parker grinding her teeth behind his back. "I'm still jet-lagged, and I don't want to go to sleep yet."
"We can show you!" Nourhane jumped in, grinning conspiratorially at him. "There's a pub, the Slag, just down the street, great chips and beer, and a decent coffee."
"Great! My treat, for both of you," he said, reaching for the doorknob. "We don't want to disturb Parker while she's working on her paper, do we?"
"Oh, you're right."
"Jay!" Much sharper now, suspicions that he was Up To Something confirmed. He waved at Parker without looking around as Nourhane smothered another giggle.
"And you can tell me how she's doing here in England," he added, holding the door for Stella.
"Certainly, that would be lovely," she responded, as Nourhane waved cheerfully at an aghast and irritated Parker, who looked ready to stamp her feet at being left alone to her homework.
"And you can give us all the dirt on her. Bye, Parker!" Nourhane sang, ducking under his arm to follow Stella.
"Bye, Parker," he mimicked and smirked at her as he shut the door.
The growling was audible in the hallway, and he was pretty sure that was one of her books hitting the door behind them.
Which was followed by a phonecall in the interests of avoiding first degree murder.
[nfi, nfb, ooc, etc.]