Response #2 to challenge 43, Over Dinner
Random spoilers for season four, I think. Not sure if writing fanfiction on friday night after an exam is the best idea in the world, so if you don't get this, don't be alarmed:: It's not you, it's me.
Characters:: Irina and Jack. But not exactly Irina/Jack. Exactly 500 words, woot.
“William,” she greeted over-courteously. “I was so thrilled when you answered my ad in the paper this morning.”
He smiled; it disappeared almost as soon as she noticed it, but it was there nonetheless. “Gretchen,” he replied with equal, false enthusiasm. “I am so glad to finally meet you.”
She dropped all façade of a normal meeting between two potentials looking for new love. “Jack,” she stated directly, gesturing for him to take the seat opposite her. “I took the liberty of ordering.”
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. She watched him as he settled into his chair, feeling almost guilty that she could still read him like a book. Noticing that he was starting to watch her carefully in return, she raised her empty wine glass in a mock toast.
A waiter appeared at their elbows and unloaded her order, with a glass of wine, onto their table. Irina muttered a ‘merci’ and poured wine for them both. She picked up her own glass and sipped it slowly, waiting - typically - for Jack to initiate the conversation.
“So,” Jack said, getting straight to the point. “I’m assuming Italian food wasn’t the sole point of this meeting?”
“No, it wasn’t,” Irina replied. She took a few sheets of paper out of her handbag. “You should see this.”
She watched him carefully as he read, realizing how delicate and deliberate this situation was. She couldn’t appear as if she was accusing him of anything; she had to be on guard and careful, just in case. It was tricky, but then again, she was Irina Derevko.
He looked up. “What, exactly, do you mean to say with this?”
Irina was almost surprised. With all her careful planning and vivid observation since he stepped into the restaurant, she had planned for almost every scenario. She knew what she would have said if he’d denied it, or questioned her sources, or even if he’d pulled out a gun and aimed it at her head; what she didn’t expect was a subtle but flat out denial of her claims, and a question about her intentions.
What were her intentions? She wanted to know if it was true. She wanted to know why. She wanted, more than anything, to know what on earth to do.
“I wanted you to help me figure out what to do, and who’s trying to frame you,” Irina replied. It wasn’t her original intention, but for the moment it was as good as it got. “I knew you would never try to harm Sydney.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll pull up some sources,” he replied. “Is that all?”
The easy answer - the sane, safe answer - would have been yes. “No,” Irina replied. “There’s something else.”
“Jack, what would you have done?”
For a fleeting moment, Irina Derevko was just a woman, seeking refuge from her husband. Then, a haunted, guilty look whispered past his dark eyes, and the moment was spent; she knew all she needed to know. Irina nodded. “I thought so.”
Characters:: Irina and Jack. But not exactly Irina/Jack. Exactly 500 words, woot.
“William,” she greeted over-courteously. “I was so thrilled when you answered my ad in the paper this morning.”
He smiled; it disappeared almost as soon as she noticed it, but it was there nonetheless. “Gretchen,” he replied with equal, false enthusiasm. “I am so glad to finally meet you.”
She dropped all façade of a normal meeting between two potentials looking for new love. “Jack,” she stated directly, gesturing for him to take the seat opposite her. “I took the liberty of ordering.”
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. She watched him as he settled into his chair, feeling almost guilty that she could still read him like a book. Noticing that he was starting to watch her carefully in return, she raised her empty wine glass in a mock toast.
A waiter appeared at their elbows and unloaded her order, with a glass of wine, onto their table. Irina muttered a ‘merci’ and poured wine for them both. She picked up her own glass and sipped it slowly, waiting - typically - for Jack to initiate the conversation.
“So,” Jack said, getting straight to the point. “I’m assuming Italian food wasn’t the sole point of this meeting?”
“No, it wasn’t,” Irina replied. She took a few sheets of paper out of her handbag. “You should see this.”
She watched him carefully as he read, realizing how delicate and deliberate this situation was. She couldn’t appear as if she was accusing him of anything; she had to be on guard and careful, just in case. It was tricky, but then again, she was Irina Derevko.
He looked up. “What, exactly, do you mean to say with this?”
Irina was almost surprised. With all her careful planning and vivid observation since he stepped into the restaurant, she had planned for almost every scenario. She knew what she would have said if he’d denied it, or questioned her sources, or even if he’d pulled out a gun and aimed it at her head; what she didn’t expect was a subtle but flat out denial of her claims, and a question about her intentions.
What were her intentions? She wanted to know if it was true. She wanted to know why. She wanted, more than anything, to know what on earth to do.
“I wanted you to help me figure out what to do, and who’s trying to frame you,” Irina replied. It wasn’t her original intention, but for the moment it was as good as it got. “I knew you would never try to harm Sydney.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll pull up some sources,” he replied. “Is that all?”
The easy answer - the sane, safe answer - would have been yes. “No,” Irina replied. “There’s something else.”
“Jack, what would you have done?”
For a fleeting moment, Irina Derevko was just a woman, seeking refuge from her husband. Then, a haunted, guilty look whispered past his dark eyes, and the moment was spent; she knew all she needed to know. Irina nodded. “I thought so.”