response #7 (?) to challenge "Over Dinner"
Season Five spoilers, but only vaguely. J/I.
"Reservations"
Irina extends the invitation despite herself. She suspects that Jack accepts it in much the same spirit.
They meet in Hong Kong, in a restaurant with a view of the harbor. Each of them wears a suit, as though this were a business dinner, concluding a long day of negotiations. This is true only in the metaphorical sense.
Naturally, they each have hotel rooms reserved. When Irina left hers half an hour ago, she wondered if Jack would be with her when she returned; she tried to envision his body on the other side of the bed. She knows that Jack performed the same ritual in his hotel too. In which room did the setting feel right? Where did it feel natural that they might be together again? Irina can't tell, and she's not sure they'll find out.
After a cursory inspection of the menu, they face one another at last. The murmuring noises of the restaurant -- voices, glass, silverware, sizzling meat -- seem unnaturally loud.
Irina understands that, no matter what she does for him, he will always look at her and think: You betrayed me. She always knew this, but it's clearer now that she has to look at him and think: You would have killed me.
Jack is no longer a man who trusts his heart; he will listen to any piece of data, any slander, any whisper, before he will listen to his own emotions. The KGB did this to him, and they used Irina to do it. He is no more the man she fell in love with than she is the woman he was married to all those years. Both of those young, hopeful, confused people died the night Laura Bristow's car sank beneath the river.
They are each more in love with the lost than with the living. Irina loves this Jack mostly because he reminds her of the Jack that used to be. It helps her endure the knowledge that Jack loves her mostly because she is so very like his Laura.
But it's not much to hold on to.
Jack is the one who breaks the silence; he's smiling, just a little. "I brought you something."
"A gift?" Well, that would be unexpected. He hasn't given her a present since a first edition of Pale Fire, which he inscribed "Forever yours." Twenty-five years ago.
"A picture."
She accepts the photo and squints at it in the candlelight. It doesn't look like a picture of anything, really, just a blur. Suddenly, realization washes over Irina: This is a sonogram.
"Sydney -- she's --"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Two more months." Jack lifts his water glass and adds, over the rim, "And we'll be grandparents."
Irina laughs because it's the only way not to cry. Then she begins crying anyway. Jack's hand is cool from the water glass as he folds it over hers. They're both smiling, and their grandchild's picture is outlined by the candle's glow. It's enough to hold on to.
"Reservations"
Irina extends the invitation despite herself. She suspects that Jack accepts it in much the same spirit.
They meet in Hong Kong, in a restaurant with a view of the harbor. Each of them wears a suit, as though this were a business dinner, concluding a long day of negotiations. This is true only in the metaphorical sense.
Naturally, they each have hotel rooms reserved. When Irina left hers half an hour ago, she wondered if Jack would be with her when she returned; she tried to envision his body on the other side of the bed. She knows that Jack performed the same ritual in his hotel too. In which room did the setting feel right? Where did it feel natural that they might be together again? Irina can't tell, and she's not sure they'll find out.
After a cursory inspection of the menu, they face one another at last. The murmuring noises of the restaurant -- voices, glass, silverware, sizzling meat -- seem unnaturally loud.
Irina understands that, no matter what she does for him, he will always look at her and think: You betrayed me. She always knew this, but it's clearer now that she has to look at him and think: You would have killed me.
Jack is no longer a man who trusts his heart; he will listen to any piece of data, any slander, any whisper, before he will listen to his own emotions. The KGB did this to him, and they used Irina to do it. He is no more the man she fell in love with than she is the woman he was married to all those years. Both of those young, hopeful, confused people died the night Laura Bristow's car sank beneath the river.
They are each more in love with the lost than with the living. Irina loves this Jack mostly because he reminds her of the Jack that used to be. It helps her endure the knowledge that Jack loves her mostly because she is so very like his Laura.
But it's not much to hold on to.
Jack is the one who breaks the silence; he's smiling, just a little. "I brought you something."
"A gift?" Well, that would be unexpected. He hasn't given her a present since a first edition of Pale Fire, which he inscribed "Forever yours." Twenty-five years ago.
"A picture."
She accepts the photo and squints at it in the candlelight. It doesn't look like a picture of anything, really, just a blur. Suddenly, realization washes over Irina: This is a sonogram.
"Sydney -- she's --"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Two more months." Jack lifts his water glass and adds, over the rim, "And we'll be grandparents."
Irina laughs because it's the only way not to cry. Then she begins crying anyway. Jack's hand is cool from the water glass as he folds it over hers. They're both smiling, and their grandchild's picture is outlined by the candle's glow. It's enough to hold on to.