September Topic: Scars
It's not the torture, or the fact he had to order his best friend to cut of one of his fingers, or that the appendix in question is currently being reattached by a surgeon which means Arvin can't be elsewhere, taking her of the incredible mess that is SD-6 right now: no, what really makes him feel oddly helpless and at the same time indignant are two different things.
It should not have happened in the first place. Someone like McKennas Cole, admittedly once a good agent, or he wouldn't have bene hired to begin with, but still nowhere near top league, should not have been able to waltz into SD-6 and take everyone hostage the way he did. The fact Cole had to be someone else's flunky isn't really helping. It still shouldn't have happened. It means Arvin Sloane is getting sloppy, and that kind of thing gets you killed. He'll have to make sure it won't ever happen again.
The other thing that makes him linger once the operation is done, the immediate aftermath at SD-6 is dealt with and the doctor shows up for the third time to send Arvin home, which he only briefly considers responding to by shooting the unfortunate man, is that he can't think of any explanation Emily will buy. One does not return from a day at the bank with a severed and then reattached finger. On the other hand - an unfortunate simile, right now, but he can't think of any other - on the other hand, Arvin is supposed to be brilliant at the invention of convincing lies. He is brilliant at it. Has been for decades. So why the performance failure now?
"Arvin," Jack says, "you shouldn't still be here."
"You shouldn't, either," Arvin replies automatically, and it is true. Jack is at less than optimum condition himself.
Somehow, this short exchange leads to them heading off to a bar for a drink, which they haven't done in quite a while. Something has changed between them ever since Arvin recruited Sydney, and the tenseness only increased once he made Jack and Sydney actually work together. It was to be expected. Leave it to Jack Bristow not to recognize the obvious, the obvious being that Sydney is briliant at her - their - job and that working together actually allows for topics of conversations between Jack and his daughter as opposed to the endless silence that was between them before. Arvin does have other, more selfish reasons for the current arrangement as well, but these benefits are no less important. He loves the Bristows, but they never know what is good for them as well as he does. If that means a temporary distance between him and Jack, well. A painful necessity. Jack would come around. In fact, sitting in a bar together, sipping at the bitter Scotch which Jack likes more than Arvin does and Arvin has ordered anyway because this just wasn't a day for fine wine, isn't that an indication the coming around process had started?
"I... appreciate what you did today," Jack says, which is the Jack Bristow equivalent of a hug, and Arvin raises an eyebrow.
"What I did today was damage control," he replies, and Jack shakes his head.
"Damage control was activating the failsafe. Telling me to cut off your finger was saving Sydney's life."
There is the explanation for that shared drink, then. Jack feels grateful for a daughter saved instead of lying torn into bits among the ruins of a blown up building. Saving Sydney's life has been the reason for that quick decision down in the interrogation room, admittedly, but nonetheless, Arvin feels a tiny slice of disappointment adding to the odd sense of failure he has about the entire affair and concludes the Scotch has to be worse than expected.
"I keep my promises, Jack," he says. Jack doesn't point out that spoken from one CIA deserter to another, from one experienced liar to another, this statement is somewhat questionable. He doesn't ask which particular promise Arvin means, either. It is one given many years ago, in the aftermath of Laura's "death" and the discovery of her true identity, when Jack ended up in prison for a while until internal affairs concluded he had been a dupe, not a mole. Of course, Arvin's interpretation of keeping Sydney safe isn't Jack's, but preventing her death is a definition they can both agree on.
Somehow, Arvin's glass is empty, and Jack refills it. The bitterness of the taste has changed into a comfortable numbness, Arvin decides, and knows this should make him feel distrustful because he has no business being relaxed today, but decides to put off the distrust for just a few moments longer.
"It won't happen again," says Jack. He might mean today's incredible security breach, or this particular echo of old times, sharing a drink together, or either, or neither. Everything and nothing at all.
"Here's to unique occurences then," Arvin says, and raises his glass. The nerves in his finger must work again, because he can feel the throbbing pain, but he raises his glass, nonetheless, and so does Jack. Their eyes meet and hold as they drink.
Years later, remembering that day, Arvin can't recall what he eventually did tell Emily when he got home. What excuse he used, and how she reacted. Maybe there was disbelief, and maybe there was not, because those were her bad days, with the cancer putting her through hell day by day, hour by hour, and her medication only insufficient relief. What Arvin does remember are the shared drinks, Jack at the bar; his memory is convenient that way sometimes. He looks at the thin white circle around one of his fingers, which is only noticable of you pay close attention, and then it resembles nothing as much as a wedding ring, cut in the flesh. Which fits, in its way. Arvin still wears Emily's ring above his own, as widowers do, but what ties him to the Bristows never was as clear and simple as a marriage vow. It never will be. It should be a scar.
He won't let it fade, either.
It should not have happened in the first place. Someone like McKennas Cole, admittedly once a good agent, or he wouldn't have bene hired to begin with, but still nowhere near top league, should not have been able to waltz into SD-6 and take everyone hostage the way he did. The fact Cole had to be someone else's flunky isn't really helping. It still shouldn't have happened. It means Arvin Sloane is getting sloppy, and that kind of thing gets you killed. He'll have to make sure it won't ever happen again.
The other thing that makes him linger once the operation is done, the immediate aftermath at SD-6 is dealt with and the doctor shows up for the third time to send Arvin home, which he only briefly considers responding to by shooting the unfortunate man, is that he can't think of any explanation Emily will buy. One does not return from a day at the bank with a severed and then reattached finger. On the other hand - an unfortunate simile, right now, but he can't think of any other - on the other hand, Arvin is supposed to be brilliant at the invention of convincing lies. He is brilliant at it. Has been for decades. So why the performance failure now?
"Arvin," Jack says, "you shouldn't still be here."
"You shouldn't, either," Arvin replies automatically, and it is true. Jack is at less than optimum condition himself.
Somehow, this short exchange leads to them heading off to a bar for a drink, which they haven't done in quite a while. Something has changed between them ever since Arvin recruited Sydney, and the tenseness only increased once he made Jack and Sydney actually work together. It was to be expected. Leave it to Jack Bristow not to recognize the obvious, the obvious being that Sydney is briliant at her - their - job and that working together actually allows for topics of conversations between Jack and his daughter as opposed to the endless silence that was between them before. Arvin does have other, more selfish reasons for the current arrangement as well, but these benefits are no less important. He loves the Bristows, but they never know what is good for them as well as he does. If that means a temporary distance between him and Jack, well. A painful necessity. Jack would come around. In fact, sitting in a bar together, sipping at the bitter Scotch which Jack likes more than Arvin does and Arvin has ordered anyway because this just wasn't a day for fine wine, isn't that an indication the coming around process had started?
"I... appreciate what you did today," Jack says, which is the Jack Bristow equivalent of a hug, and Arvin raises an eyebrow.
"What I did today was damage control," he replies, and Jack shakes his head.
"Damage control was activating the failsafe. Telling me to cut off your finger was saving Sydney's life."
There is the explanation for that shared drink, then. Jack feels grateful for a daughter saved instead of lying torn into bits among the ruins of a blown up building. Saving Sydney's life has been the reason for that quick decision down in the interrogation room, admittedly, but nonetheless, Arvin feels a tiny slice of disappointment adding to the odd sense of failure he has about the entire affair and concludes the Scotch has to be worse than expected.
"I keep my promises, Jack," he says. Jack doesn't point out that spoken from one CIA deserter to another, from one experienced liar to another, this statement is somewhat questionable. He doesn't ask which particular promise Arvin means, either. It is one given many years ago, in the aftermath of Laura's "death" and the discovery of her true identity, when Jack ended up in prison for a while until internal affairs concluded he had been a dupe, not a mole. Of course, Arvin's interpretation of keeping Sydney safe isn't Jack's, but preventing her death is a definition they can both agree on.
Somehow, Arvin's glass is empty, and Jack refills it. The bitterness of the taste has changed into a comfortable numbness, Arvin decides, and knows this should make him feel distrustful because he has no business being relaxed today, but decides to put off the distrust for just a few moments longer.
"It won't happen again," says Jack. He might mean today's incredible security breach, or this particular echo of old times, sharing a drink together, or either, or neither. Everything and nothing at all.
"Here's to unique occurences then," Arvin says, and raises his glass. The nerves in his finger must work again, because he can feel the throbbing pain, but he raises his glass, nonetheless, and so does Jack. Their eyes meet and hold as they drink.
Years later, remembering that day, Arvin can't recall what he eventually did tell Emily when he got home. What excuse he used, and how she reacted. Maybe there was disbelief, and maybe there was not, because those were her bad days, with the cancer putting her through hell day by day, hour by hour, and her medication only insufficient relief. What Arvin does remember are the shared drinks, Jack at the bar; his memory is convenient that way sometimes. He looks at the thin white circle around one of his fingers, which is only noticable of you pay close attention, and then it resembles nothing as much as a wedding ring, cut in the flesh. Which fits, in its way. Arvin still wears Emily's ring above his own, as widowers do, but what ties him to the Bristows never was as clear and simple as a marriage vow. It never will be. It should be a scar.
He won't let it fade, either.