response #4 to challenge "one night"
Well, it kinda fits the challenge, anyway. J/I, set in the first months following S2's "The Telling" --
"Gravestone"
The ice between Jack and Irina did not begin to thaw until the second month of their collaboration to find Sydney's killers.
They were driving along the coast of Northern Ireland, heading back to Belfast after their most recent meeting with a source. The night was dark and cold, and the narrow, winding roads meant that they traveled slowly. Irina sat behind the wheel; she was more accustomed to driving on the left side of the road. Jack stared out the passenger-side window, either studying what little he could glimpse of the sea in the darkness or resolutely ignoring her. Probably both.
Irina was somewhat content with this state of affairs until the car's headlights swept past an old graveyard, outlining a worn limestone cross in brightness. Someone's child lay there, and one of her many wounds hurt more sharply for a moment.
"Why did you cremate Sydney?" she whispered.
"What?"
"Why did you have her cremated? I can't believe you let her ashes be scattered." It had always seemed disrespectful, to Irina -- throwing away what was left of someone, like so much litter.
Jack half-turned, so that he looked straight ahead. She could see his profile in the dashboard lights. "Irina -- Sydney was -- her body was already badly damaged in the fire---"
"Still. You could have buried her, given her a grave. A resting place. Something, anything."
"Pull over."
"What?"
He grabbed the steering wheel and twisted it, forcing them off the road so fast that the seat belt felt like a lash across Irina's chest. She swore at him, but Jack already had the keys in one hand and was unbuckling her with the other. "Get out."
Irina could have fought him, but she didn't trust herself not to hurt him. So she allowed Jack to pull her along after him as they made their way down the steep, rocky slope that led to the water. Neither of them spoke; there was no sound other than their footsteps and the swelling roar of the waves.
To Irina's surprise, they didn't stop on the gravelly coastline. Jack pulled her into the sea itself, both of them stumbling into the ice-cold water until they were nearly knee-deep.
"You want to visit Sydney's grave?" Jack's voice cracked on their daughter's name. "We're here."
In that moment, Irina understood. It was as if Jack's soul had opened to her, instantly and completely -- in a way she hadn't experienced in decades, so long that she'd convinced herself that closeness had only been an illusion. But here it was, real and true: She knew why he'd let Sydney's ashes be scattered into the ocean. Their daughter's grave was everywhere; it covered the whole earth, like their grief, and their love.
Irina clasped his hands in hers, and Jack didn't pull away. They stood in the cold water until their tears were spent, and it seemed to her, afterward, that they were never as far apart as they'd been before.
"Gravestone"
The ice between Jack and Irina did not begin to thaw until the second month of their collaboration to find Sydney's killers.
They were driving along the coast of Northern Ireland, heading back to Belfast after their most recent meeting with a source. The night was dark and cold, and the narrow, winding roads meant that they traveled slowly. Irina sat behind the wheel; she was more accustomed to driving on the left side of the road. Jack stared out the passenger-side window, either studying what little he could glimpse of the sea in the darkness or resolutely ignoring her. Probably both.
Irina was somewhat content with this state of affairs until the car's headlights swept past an old graveyard, outlining a worn limestone cross in brightness. Someone's child lay there, and one of her many wounds hurt more sharply for a moment.
"Why did you cremate Sydney?" she whispered.
"What?"
"Why did you have her cremated? I can't believe you let her ashes be scattered." It had always seemed disrespectful, to Irina -- throwing away what was left of someone, like so much litter.
Jack half-turned, so that he looked straight ahead. She could see his profile in the dashboard lights. "Irina -- Sydney was -- her body was already badly damaged in the fire---"
"Still. You could have buried her, given her a grave. A resting place. Something, anything."
"Pull over."
"What?"
He grabbed the steering wheel and twisted it, forcing them off the road so fast that the seat belt felt like a lash across Irina's chest. She swore at him, but Jack already had the keys in one hand and was unbuckling her with the other. "Get out."
Irina could have fought him, but she didn't trust herself not to hurt him. So she allowed Jack to pull her along after him as they made their way down the steep, rocky slope that led to the water. Neither of them spoke; there was no sound other than their footsteps and the swelling roar of the waves.
To Irina's surprise, they didn't stop on the gravelly coastline. Jack pulled her into the sea itself, both of them stumbling into the ice-cold water until they were nearly knee-deep.
"You want to visit Sydney's grave?" Jack's voice cracked on their daughter's name. "We're here."
In that moment, Irina understood. It was as if Jack's soul had opened to her, instantly and completely -- in a way she hadn't experienced in decades, so long that she'd convinced herself that closeness had only been an illusion. But here it was, real and true: She knew why he'd let Sydney's ashes be scattered into the ocean. Their daughter's grave was everywhere; it covered the whole earth, like their grief, and their love.
Irina clasped his hands in hers, and Jack didn't pull away. They stood in the cold water until their tears were spent, and it seemed to her, afterward, that they were never as far apart as they'd been before.