Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and MGM.

Due South was created by Paul Haggis and produced by Alliance Atlantis, BBC, CTV television and Pro Sieben Media. It's a wonderful show, mixing action and humor together into a delightfully quirky detective drama. If you've never seen it, I highly recommend the DVDs.

The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creations. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: Here's a story I've been mulling over for weeks. It is my first crossover attempt. Focusing on more characters than I usually do may cause this tale to become rather lengthy, but I hope to make it enjoyable for those Pretender fans that may not know of Due South. Be warned – though Due South had many serious moments and complex characters, the show was often a playful romp through unlikely circumstances. (Think of any Pretender episode with Argyle in it and you'll get the idea.) As a result, I don't intend for this story to be as dark or as angst ridden as some of my other stuff. I hope you like it.

Defining Connection 1
By Phenyx
04/30/2006

Fury emanated from Miss Parker's body in almost visible waves. She moved down the hallway in long, distance-devouring strides. The heels of her shoes clicked sharply against the tiles beneath her creating a rapid staccato of sound. When she reached the elevators, she uncrossed her arms only long enough to jab at the call button with a perfectly manicured nail before returning to her tightly wrapped stance.

Her steel-blue eyes glared daggers of ice and she wore a mask of haughty indifference. Yet anyone seeing her would have been able to feel the tension nearly shaking her body. She battled with her rage, reining it in as much as she could. She did not want Raines to know that he was pushing her over the edge. She did not want Lyle to know how close to that edge she had gotten.

The lift arrived and Miss Parker stepped into it. She allowed the doors to close behind her before leaning forward with a hiss. One hand pressed to her stomach, she breathed deeply in an attempt to banish the pain out of sheer will.

Her ulcers were coming back. And they were back in full force.

"You need to relax Miss Parker," Sydney had advised several weeks ago.

"No shit, Sherlock," she had snarled in reply. "You try to unwind with the thumb-less wonder and his zombie benefactor watching your every move."

The last half-year had been excruciating. It had been nearly six months since Miss Parker had watched the only father she had ever known leap his death. His body had been recovered days later. Within a week, Mr. Parker had been buried and Miss Parker's memories of a loving father had been buried with him.

Since then, life at the Centre had taken on a nightmarish quality. Miss Parker was trapped in a game where she was only vaguely aware of the rules. She stubbornly fought Raines at every opportunity. He in turn humiliated her, degraded her and belittled her as much as he could. Most of the time, Miss Parker was able to thwart both Raines and her brother by smiling coyly at them. Giving the other men the impression that she knew more than they, or something they did not know she knew, worked to her advantage.

And yet, living like this was exhausting. Miss Parker was playing their game, by their rules. She knew she could not hope to win. In fact, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Jarod's words whispered back to her. "Winning their way isn't the answer," he'd said. He had called just hours before the scheduled flight that brought her to Africa. "The only way to beat them is to join them."

"You think I can't handle it?" Miss Parker had growled.

"No," Jarod had replied sadly. "You still have a soul, Miss Parker. Your humanity prevents you from sinking to their level."

Miss Parker had scoffed and hung up on him. But Jarod's words had stayed with her ever since. The meetings at the Triumvirate compound, attended by Miss Parker, Lyle and Raines, had made the pretender's words all the more poignant. The Triumvirate council was wary of her, unsure of the knowledge Miss Parker held. Raines did his best to play them against her whenever possible.

God, but she hated them. She hated them all. She hated the politics and the backstabbing. She hated Lyle's smarmy grin and was chilled by his innuendo. She hated Raines' empty promises and his constant struggle for power. She hated the looks cast upon her by the Triumvirate members. She hated their condescending tones.

Suddenly the thought of continuing this charade for another week was unbearable. Miss Parker felt a sharp urge to go, just go as far away as fast as she could. As the thought took hold in her mind, Miss Parker felt an evil smile spread across her face. Leaving the compound without permission was not allowed. If she were to ignore Raines' wishes and take off on a pleasure jaunt, it would be an incredibly effective snub of his authority.

Miss Parker hurried to the embarrassingly small office she had been assigned during her stay in Africa and began throwing her personal items into a briefcase. Within moments she was retracing her steps in the corridor. As she blew by the receptionist, Miss Parker said sweetly, "Mark, I'm leaving for the day. Please cancel any appointments I may have on my calendar."

"Yes Miss Parker," the thin blond man responded. "For what day should I reschedule?"

"Don't bother," she smiled. "Anything important can be done via teleconference to my office in Delaware."

The young man was still sputtering when Miss Parker heard her brother's voice. "Going somewhere, Sis?"

Her sugary sweet smile never wavered. "I would think you'd be glad to be rid of me, Brother dear."

"Dad won't like it," Lyle replied.

"I don't care what Raines likes. I need a few days to myself."

Lyle smiled his most disarming smile. Miss Parker was not affected. "Headed to the London house perhaps?"

Miss Parker pretended to ponder that idea. As a matter of fact, she had already considered it but now tossed that option aside. "No," she said carelessly. "I think I'll do some shopping. Paris is nice this time of year and I haven't been to Etienne's in ages."

Both twins understood the underlying menace in Miss Parker's seemingly innocuous words. For her to cast aside the Triumvirate's wishes, to ignore the summons they had placed before her, was dangerous. But Miss Parker knew that they needed her, just as they needed Jarod. She didn't know why, simply used that knowledge to her benefit.

"Paris in the springtime can be fraught with danger for a single woman," Lyle warned.

Miss Parker refused to rise to the bait. "I haven't been shoe shopping in Milan since I transferred from corporate. And Lord knows the Lab-rat has not been good to my Ferragamos." She shrugged. "I'll decide where I'm going when I get to the airport."

Lyle was staring at her with a stunned expression as Miss Parker breezed past him and stepped onto the elevator. She waved prettily as the doors slid shut between them. The genuine smile that graced Parker's lips was the first in many months. It felt really good, rebelling against those who wanted to control her.

A vacation was exactly what Miss Parker felt she needed. It never occurred to her that she could leave permanently. The possibility of never seeing her psychotic brother again did not dawn upon her Centre-trained mind. That seed of thought would not begin to grow until Jarod planted it many days later.

-

New York was the destination Miss Parker finally chose. The Big Apple was unequalled in its designer shopping boutiques. Anything Miss Parker could dream of looking for could be found in that city's high priced stores. New York's relative proximity to Delaware meant shipping packages home would be less hassle. The fact that it would take three separate planes to get from Triumvirate headquarters to New York meant Miss Parker would be more difficult to follow.

It had seemed the perfect solution.

Embarking on the final leg of her journey, Miss Parker closed her eyes and sighed. She was not particularly fond of commercial flights. Even in first class, she found herself annoyed by the crush of humanity in the coach class seats. There always seemed to be a child wailing in some part of the plane. The hum of the engines beneath her feet seemed deafening, for there was no sound proofing on these planes like that she'd taken for granted on the Centre's private jet.

The airplane lifted from the tarmac and Miss Parker gritted her teeth through the safety presentation. Sometimes she felt as though she would scream the very next time she was told, "In the unlikely event of a water landing, your seat cushion may be used as a flotation device." As if crashing into the ocean from 39,000 feet would leave anyone alive to worry about the straps under one's butt.

Finally, the uniformed Vanna White finished the spiel about what to do during a loss in cabin pressure. The plane reached cruising altitude and the flight attendant began the beverage service. "Single malt, no ice," Miss Parker ordered. The one great positive to flying a commercial airline, one could spend the flight with a nice alcohol-induced buzz without disapproving frowns from nosy psychiatrists.

Miss Parker was only halfway through her first drink before waving her hand in the air for her second. The pretty blond flight attendant gracefully switched Miss Parker's empty glass for the new one within moments. "Is there anything else I can get you ma'am?" the girl asked.

"Another," Miss Parker shook her glass meaningfully. "And I'd like a copy of the Times if you have it."

"Of course," the flight attendant answered. "But I'm afraid it is yesterday's edition."

"That's fine," Miss Parker dismissed the girl with a wave.

Sipping gently at her third drink, Miss Parker began to flip through the New York Times newspaper. She'd been in Africa for more than a week and wanted to catch up on things in the States. She really didn't care that much, it was just force of habit that made her skim through the pages.

She was on one of the inner sections, paging through the local news, when Miss Parker abruptly froze. Turning back one page she stared at the black and white photograph at the top of the page. "City officials connected to organized crime", the headline read. The story was your typical government scandal, abuse of power, selling to the highest bidder, type of stuff. It held no interest for Miss Parker.

It was the picture that had caught her attention.

The photo was of two men making their way through a crowd on the courthouse steps. One man, undoubtedly the official, was attempting to hide his face behind his overcoat. The other man was a grizzled older fellow whose clothes and attitude reeked of money and power. Around this man were several large, dark-suited bodyguards. Miss Parker recognized their purpose easily for they looked like every sweeper team she had ever used.

One of the bodyguards located at the very edge of the photo, stood with his back to the camera. He held one arm out in front of him to part the crowd for his master. Miss Parker could see the broad shoulders and the well-tailored cut of his jacket. She could also see the bulge of the gun holstered beneath his ribs.

No part of the guard's face appeared in the image. There was nothing to see but his wide back and narrow waist. Yet Miss Parker still recognized him. She would know that form anywhere. After all, she had spent the last six and a half years watching that back retreat as she tried desperately to catch it.

Jarod had cut his hair. Miss Parker registered the fact almost absently. The longish, slicked back look he'd worn on Carthis was gone. In its place was a run-of-the-mill businessman's cut.

Miss Parker read the accompanying article three times. Evidently, the photo had been taken two days ago in downtown New York. A city councilman had been caught taking payoffs from a known mafia connection. That Jarod was involved was a given, but all evidence had come from an anonymous source. If the picture was to be believed, Jarod was working as part of the mob leader's protection detail. No one knew that Jarod was the informant – no one but Miss Parker.

Miss Parker shook her head in wry amusement. "Every time," she whispered to the newsprint. "Every time I purposely stop searching for him, the little cretin falls right into my lap." Jarod was still in New York. Miss Parker knew it without a doubt.

In a little over ten hours, Miss Parker would be there too.

End part 1