The Perfect Weapon Chapter 12 part 1 section 1 of 2

[camillecarelli]

Chapter 12: Part 1

tick, TICK, TICK What was he doing? Sitting there on the bed, he smoothed his hand over her hair. She winced when his fingers encountered a snarl. "Your hair is a tangle. I'll brush it for you if you want," he suggested. 
"Really?" She turned to look at him. Did they have time for this? TICK

"Sure. You always liked that. Didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," she confirmed. "If you would….That would be…perfect."

"Well, go get your brush and I'll put my toiletries in the bathroom. We should shower. Do you want me to put yours in there too?" he asked, giving her a little bait, wondering against his will what was in her pack. Should he force a confrontation now? Would that be in his best interests? She shook her head declining his offer; ah, decision-making crisis averted, he thought with self-derision. Shrugged and said nonchalantly, "Okay. I'll go get the Jacuzzi going while I'm in there. You wanted to use it, didn't you?" He looked at her.

"Yes, but…." Didn't he feel it, the TICK, TICK, TICK? Of course not, she realized. He thought they had….as long as they wanted, that he could visit her in her cell anytime, that perhaps they could go on other missions, work together, have a future of some kind together. She wished she believed that, wished that she were as lucky in ignorance as he was, wished that she did not feel the bitter with the sweet. She wished….she could tell him the truth. The truth? Where had that thought come from? That was not helpful, effective; the truth would not win her the game she needed to win after so many years of work. Was she getting confused about which game was of primary importance? She must need some sleep…but that made no sense, she had gone without sleep for much longer than this night and had no troubling keeping her priorities straight. She sighed, knowing the real reason. Focus, Derevko, don't become lost in the distraction Jack presents, had always presented. "Don't you think---"

"I don't want you feeling sore, later today," he smiled. "Don't make me feel guilty, alright?"

Guilty? Why had he used that word? Did he know? Was he tormenting her? But that was ridiculous, she had no reason to feel guilty, they were both master gamesplayers, both knew the rules, the score, he would just know he had been outplayed….No big deal. No guilt. Or…she realized staring at his smiling face, there was an alternative interpretation; he was just making an allusion to the day after the night they had conceived Sydney and she had been a little sore and he had made her soak in the tub and they….Jack was good in water, too, she sighed in remembrance, sighed thinking about that Jacuzzi in the bathroom. That would be a very good memory to take with her. One more time. But did they have the time?….TICK

"But, Jack, the time…."

"Don't worry. We still have time. I've got my eye on my watch - never took it off, remember? Whatever else you might think of me, trust me to have the timing down precisely."

"But…."

"L--Irina, don't worry, okay? Let me worry about it."

She nodded and breathed again. If he said they had time, they had time. She heard the clock in her head slow to a soft and more manageable tick, tick Jack would take care of it. Her. One last time.

Giving her a kiss, he rose from the bed and walked over to the window. She watched him, her brow creased in puzzlement. What the hell was the business with the window? Had he taken up astronomy? Was he running some game on the side that involved the harbor? Or was it just a way to remove himself from her when the memories, the questions, her presence became too much in classic Jack Bristow withdrawal fashion? Like when he was deeply upset about something and would barricade himself in the office and she'd have to cajole or tease or seduce or simply, sometimes, order him out? Men could be such babies. Sometimes, though, she had wondered if it had all been a little game designed to make her come after him, one of those man-woman games that had been so much fun with him. Was this one of those chase games? Or was the chase game just a way for one person to test the other's person's desire? How badly did you want....Regardless of motivation, what tactic should she use this time? To what would he respond?

Watching him, debating, she realized he reminded her of something, someone…Suddenly, she wondered if had he become claustrophobic over the years? She could empathize. And then she knew -- he reminded her of herself. When she had been a prisoner in Kashmir, when she had been desperate, trying to control her desperation, for sunlight on her face and a fresh breeze against her body, while trying to act as though nothing mattered. When, she realized wryly, she had made that mistake of which Jack had spoken, the mistake of counting the paces of her cell. Did he always have to be right? He was so irritating! But how had he known….the counting was an activity one employed only after….a while. At first, one thought and planned and schemed and wondered. It was only when one became bored and worried and concerned about the future that might not look so…bright. When had he ever been captured by an enemy for long enough to learn that lesson? She opened her mouth to ask, then sighed. He probably had his own set of interesting stories to tell. Too bad they did not have time to exchange them, it could have kept them busy forever. Forever and….No, she would not think of that, there was no time, after all. tick

Get back to Jack and his damn, interminable, inscrutable gazing out the window! Did he feel like a prisoner tonight, in this room? With her? Why? He had chosen to be here, with her, hadn't he? And once Jack made a decision, he did not second guess, did not have regrets, did not hesitate. Did he? No. So, did he feel, occasionally, like he was a prisoner of the game, his own obsessions, whatever they were? Like she did, if she ever allowed herself to think about it…usually when she saw a couple kissing while leaning up against a car or heard a glass shatter or….so many moments. She had to be careful, so careful, compartmentalize; if she allowed it, her memory book could become a compendium of pain. And that was not acceptable.

"Jack, how did you stand it - between Sloane and Kendall?" she asked curiously.

He turned and shrugged, as if it had been no big deal. "Sloane, actually, was easier to get around, or at least I knew him well enough to know how to manipulate him. I mean - I was a double for how many years and he never caught on?"

"That's because you excelled at it, Jack, don't denigrate your accomplishments." She said sincerely, of all people she knew how difficult it was to lead that life. Especially when you had a real relationship with the person you were deceiving.

He shrugged again, "Whatever. Kendall…It's frustrating to work ostensibly on the same side with someone and be in constant conflict about the means to the end, constantly worry about his motivations, his reliability. I would do anything to get him out of the way. He's so arrogant, so self-serving, so lacking in concern about the people on his team…I worry that we cannot trust him."

"I agree," she nodded. "You remember what Vaughn said, how Kendall was more worried about appearing before a committee than in extracting us from Kashmir? I worry about Sydney, working under him." Well, she would, if Jack were not there running interference. Sydney did not know how to handle someone like Kendall, did not have the patience to run the necessary endgames.

"I do, as well. But and I hesitate to remind the great Irina Derevko of the importance of the game -- isn't that why we are here - to get Sydney out of this life?"

"Yes," she said. Biting her lip, she looked away. She was not jealous of Sydney, she told herself, it was Jack's concern for Sydney, after all, that had led them to this place. She took a breath and walked over to stand next to him, looking…She still didn't see anything worth seeing. What was he finding in the harbor, the expanse of sky that she could not?

They both could see that the full moon was starting to fade in the slowly-brightening sky. She nodded to herself, he was probably remembering that night as well, the moon was so similar…

But what of it, why would that….She watched his lips move, was that three syllables? What was that? Probably the beginning of some quotation, she decided, remembering all of the lines they had quoted to each other about the moon, evoking the memory of the night he proposed to her. That night was her favorite memory of all, the one she took out and perused in her bleakest moments or when she allowed her mind to wander as she accidentally caught the scent of full-blown summer roses. It was only by accident that she might feel her eyes tear up at the scent for she allowed no roses in floral arrangements anywhere near her, no roses in the gardens of her homes. No roses. Allergies, she told anyone who inquired. She used the press of work, her need to concentrate on her work to explain why she always pulled down the window shade in airplanes if she was flying over an ocean in the early morning. She looked out, it was just the harbor, not really an ocean, so…And besides, Jack was right here with her, there was no reason to shy away from those memories that could sometimes be double-edged swords in his absence, when she allowed herself, so infrequently…… She looked over at him, at his profile, so beloved, so etched in her memory as the sun hit his face, cast the other side in shadow, this side - closest to her - in light. He looked lost in thought, had ever since he had silently said…what could it be?

She searched her memory. Ah, she thought, this must be the quotation in his head, what he does not want to say because it would make me anxious and he told me not to worry….

Nothing that is can pause or stay; she began, 
The moon will wax, the moon will wane, he continued and they alternated verses 
The mist and cloud will turn to rain, 
The rain to mist and cloud again, 
To-morrow be to-day. she ended, grasping his arm with her hand, holding him tight.

"Longfellow?" he asked, peering down at her. He turned and put his arms around her as he commented, "You don't even like Longfellow…too morose, you always said. Why are you thinking about that poem?" If he had been thinking about a formal moon quotation, it would not have been that one, he thought wryly. No. It would have been, again, Romeo: Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops---- Juliet: O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. Romeo and Juliet. Act II. Sc. 2. Shakespeare again? He really needed to expand his reading horizons. Join a book group, perhaps? Something to think about. Later.

She asked, "You weren't?"

"No," he said and then nothing else, just stroked her back. Waiting. Waiting for WHAT? What had he been thinking, speaking? Oh, stop it, Irina, you don't have time, once again, to unlock that puzzlebox. Move on, move on, move ON. TICK, TICK

"Honey, you're tense, I can feel it. I told you…" he said and then asked gently, "Are you nervous about the drop? Dealing with Sloane? Do you want to call it off?" For the love of God, he wanted to plead, just tell me the damn truth!

"Call it off?" she scoffed, calling on her ability to dissemble. "On what grounds? What would Kendall say?"

"Oh, who gives a crap? And I'll call it off on the grounds that it just didn't feel right. I'll take the blame. I'm already in so deep now that I've removed the transmitter, anyway. He won't like it, but I've learned that listening to one's intuition is how one stays alive in this business. So, if you feel bad about the op, just say the word….." Take the bait, damn it, take the bait! Don't make me…no, he would take responsibility. Take the bait and make the passive transmitter unnecessary, make my ridiculous, night-long hesitation worth something. Choose…. choose me, us, a tiny little, almost imperceptible voice said, choose me this time. His heart fell, he thought, had he allowed himself to feel, when she leaned her head against his chest and shook it side to side. He put one hand up into her hair and held her against him.

"No, I'm fine. Maybe, sad the night is almost over." And that was true, she was starting to hear that TICK again.

"Well," he said, pulling back to see her face. "We'll have plenty of time. Other nights too, probably. If we work together. I am sure we could devise schemes to go on missions together again. Without the kids…." He smiled. Tick, Tick

"I don't know if I'm young enough to handle another night like this," she said, forcing herself to laugh. "Maybe I'm just a little overtired…" she said slyly, looking up at him with a glint in her eyes.

He swallowed hard, swallowed down the hope, as he smiled, "Well, you got more sleep than I did….remember - you slept on top of me earlier?"

"Oh, when you were cold? Didn't you sleep?" She asked. Good joke, Irina. Ha, ha. As if he had slept in the same room with any woman after he had discovered, too late, that he sometimes talked in his sleep? Ariana Kane had been correct about losing more secrets over the pillows than through torture - he had probably given her more clues through his mumbling in their bedroom than any form of torture she could have devised.

"Nah. You were too heavy, a crushing weight," he teased. She pinched him. "But warm, though, very warm. I've missed your warmth," he said honestly and hugged her close. One last time. Before letting her go before the real op of this night began. tick, tick

He closed the drapes, not wanting the sunlight illuminating his face. Wondered why it had not occurred to her to ask why he had not opened the drapes to flood the room with moonlight, as he had always done in the past. But just as well, for how would he explain that he wanted to keep his many memories of Laura glowing in the moonlight separate from his memories of Irina, which belonged in the dark?

"Get your brush, then," he suggested softly, as he picked up his own pack. As if he would have left it alone in a room with her, anyway, he thought wryly as he went into the bathroom. Finding a pack of cards in Kashmir was nothing compared to the ramifications should she see the items sewn into the seams of the pack. Alternately too revealing and too dangerous.

And what of her own pack? Well, if he were honest - here he snorted at himself -- he did not particularly want to see her pack either, afraid of what he would discover. Lying there earlier in the night as she slumbered next to him, he had debated searching her pack, her belongings, her clothes for whatever it was she now had that she wanted to take with her. He had seen her cozying up to that Sunglass Hut guard of hers. Watched her on the monitors, as she cleverly sympathized and lightly flirted just as he had expected, just as she had always done; watched as she alternately distracted and disarmed the young man. He sighed, people had patterns, didn't they? He was almost disappointed. Just once, could she surprise him? No, that was a lie. Irina could surprise him, Irina had surprised him when she walked back in. But…would he have been so surprised had he spent more time running game theory and less time excoriating himself for his foolishness? Lesson learned here? Concentrate on the damn game, Bristow and not your own feelings. Hadn't she been right, so very right, when she said he had been blinded by his emotions? And never underestimate your opponent. Never. She apparently underestimated him, thought he was not watching the tapes...But of course she did...she thought he trusted her. Back to the game…. Irina never did anything without a reason, he had mused as he watched her, knowing he had given her - with the whole shattered glass moment - motive, means and opportunity. She would want to beat him using what she viewed as a mistake on his part - alienating her guard and then not having him fired.

He still could not quite believe that no one had checked the portfolio to ensure that the Rambaldi document - Irina Derevko's obsession - was still in it. If he had operational authority, he would have been checking every item that went into and out of her cell, have every guard searched every time. With this type of situation the only person upon whom one could rely was oneself. Lesson learned. Apparently, one Kendall had not yet learned. Oh well. What a shame. For Kendall.

Lying there while she had slumbered, he debated opening her pack, debated calling the Op Center to have the portfolio checked, debated creating the confrontation. Lying there, he had played the odds, deciding eventually that above all else, this op was still the perfect weapon against her campaign to make Sydney think she was a caring mother. If he confronted her, brought out the truth, it would only serve to delay the inevitable betrayal, give her yet another opportunity later on when he might not catch it. When you were as good as Irina, there would always be another opportunity. And worst of all, lengthen the time Sydney spent bonding with her and deepen the eventual hurt. He knew how deadly it was to spend more time than necessary with her. She was so good at making you believe in the impossible. He shook his head as he looked inside his pack, searching for the tiny loose threads that enclosed the items. So good at making him forget who she was, who he was. Hence his idiotic hesitation tonight. No more. Time was wasting. Tick

He reached in his hand and went right to one of the seams, pulling the critical thread with careful force. The choice was made, he thought. No, she had made her choice, he would make his. No passive voice allowed for either of them, he mused as he pulled out the transmitter package. He opened it carefully - it was so tiny and fragile in his large hands. Holding it up, checking it, he mused that, moreover, if - no, when -- she did betray them, the theft of the manuscript would serve to make Kendall look incompetent and bolster his argument that he should have operational authority. A nice doubleplay. But it all depended upon this tiny little syringe in his fingers. And his ability to insert it without her knowledge. His whole plan depended, now that she had not taken the bait, upon this…He clenched his jaw, then forced himself to relax, to compartmentalize, to look upon the upcoming….insertion as just another mission, just a return to the old screw and skedaddle. Look upon it, he told himself, like a vaccine. You'll probably never step on a rusty nail and get lockjaw, but just in case, it's better to have that tetanus vaccine, isn't it? Even if it hurts a little, it's better to be safe than sorry, isn't it?

Wasn't that a lesson he had learned, too late, long ago, that caution was better than a leap of faith?

Whew, she breathed a sigh of relief that he had left the room while she opened her pack .She did not want him to see hers but was slightly surprised he had not inspected her pack while she slept. Knew he had not or she would not be here right now - - he would have found the manuscript even as well hidden as it was and the ensuing confrontation would have been both distasteful and counterproductive, a waste of time. The time she would have had to spend winning his trust or Sydney's or running another game…..the additional time she would have spent with him, them, would have made this parting that much more painful for her. But she shrugged, why worry? He trusted her completely, just like the old days. This game was working, even if time TICK was running out. Where was he, anyway? She did not want to spend too much time alone, thinking.

When he returned to the room, she gave him a relieved smile and handed him the brush. "What's that for?" he asked, kissing her happy mouth.

"Just glad you're back. I was starting to worry about you in there…."

"Oh, I was just looking at the Jacuzzi and got distracted," he teased. She rolled her eyes. He sat down on the bed in front of the mirror above the bureau and pulled her to sit down between his legs. Stroking the brush through her hair, carefully combing through the tangles of the night, he said nothing. She forced her breathing to stay calm and even, like his, even as the tick, TICK grew louder in the silence. She finally said gesturing toward the bureau, "Do you remember the time you came home from some trip and I'd had the closet doors replaced with mirrors? Before I did the complete room makeover?"

"Yeah. Oh, yeah, I remember," he said with a smile, looking over her shoulder. "You were quite excited about it."

"You were too!" she laughed, remembering that night.

"No, actually, I was excited about your excitement. You were the one who liked to see us in reflection. I always preferred looking right at you," he said, squeezing her with his free hand. "Hmm. But you haven't demanded that tonight…Don't you like mirrors anymore?" She shrugged. "Well, I'd hate - knowing your mania for mirrors - for this night to be incomplete for you. So, here, let's try this….this is good too," he said and gently pushing her to her feet, he exaggeratedly looked at her back and then looked around her to gaze upon her in the mirror. "A doubleplay - I get to see your front and back all at once." He laid down the brush, put one hand on her hip, his fingers rubbing up and down over her waist and abdomen and lifted one hand to her breast and began playing with the nipple while she watched. Then brought both hands up to cup her breasts, while kissing her shoulder, careful not to press on the wound under the bandage.

She smiled at him in the mirror, "Kissing my hurt to make it better? You know….You never answered my question that time we were working on the witch hunt at SD-6…"

"Which question?" he asked, watching her shiver as she watched his hands in the mirror.

"If you are still a good kiss ass? After all this time, maybe I need you to prove it. So, I'll turn sideways and you could move a little lower back there and show me if you're still a good kiss ass." They both laughed and as he moved his lips away from her shoulder down her back, he thought perhaps he should have just inserted the passive transmitter when he removed the other, active one. It would have been easier. But no, not him! Oh, no! He had wanted a doubleplay. Or was it a tripleplay? Concentrate Bristow, don't get distracted. The transmitter had to not only track her, and make her feel like she had failed at duping him, it also had another role to play. He had wanted to find a way to insert the passive transmitter so that she would know that he had done so while they were making love to increase her feelings of betrayal. He heard a little voice telling him, asking if perhaps he had not inserted the passive transmitter when it would have been easiest, that he had waited for the 'perfect' moment in the hopes that the insertion, his betrayal, would prove unnecessary, that by the time the moon had fallen and the sun risen she would have confessed.

He shook his head at his own foolishness as he continued caressing her, watching her face as she began talking about the jewelry he had given her. "Do you remember when you gave me that ankle bracelet - the one with all the bells and charms? Remember that game - where I'd hide from you and have to move so that I didn't make it jingle or you'd catch me?"

"Sure. That was fun. Remember when Sydney played an innocent version of that with us one day and then ---"

"Later, she swiped it out of my jewelry box and hid it?"

"Yeah. When she was about two? And we couldn't find it and she told us to just listen for the jingle? She hadn't learned yet that the bell has to be on the cat for the game to work."

"Well, yes. But that ankle bracelet…. I can't remember - was that from that same artisan - your favorite?" She inquired, so casually, too casually. He shook his head at her foolishness - did she really think he was going to fall into the trap she was trying to set and tell her the location of the chain? Please. Was he an amateur? There were, after all, a million ways to irritate someone, weren't there?

The bedclothes twisted on the floor under their feet, he tried kicking them aside and almost knocked her over. "Sorry!" he exclaimed as he grabbed her quickly by the waist. He resumed brushing her hair. With a perplexed frown, he asked, "Why are you fixating on the jewelry?" he asked, while she watched them in the mirror. 
"I…I don't know. Do I have to have a reason for everything?" He rolled his eyes, she stepped on his foot. She continued, wishing he would just take the damn cue! Why wasn't he taking the cue? Why was he going to make her ask? Was he trying to torture her? Didn't he know she had to know about the chain? "The jewelry…. just seems…important. Do you remember the first piece you ever gave me?" Let's try the circumlocution trick again. Lord knows, it usually worked on her!

"No. Remind me."

What a shithead! Liar and shithead! "It was a bracelet," she said tightly. TICK

"Was it? Gold or silver?" He asked calmly, meeting her eyes, letting only mild curiosity show. Did she honestly think he was going to fall into that trap and contradict her? Had she forgotten that they had already talked about those earrings tonight?

She stared at him. Then shook her head and said, "No, I'm wrong." She touched her ear lobe. "It was earrings. Remember, they matched the waist chain?" She ran her hands around her waist. TICK C'mon Jack, take the bait, give me a clue, something. Anything, anything to run with. She'd steal the chain if she had to, if he would not give it to her. She had to have that chain. Had to. If she could not have him, she had to have that chain. She was no longer subordinate to anyone, no one could order her to throw her rings down the toilet anymore, to throw away forever anymore. She was in charge now. She made the decisions about what to keep and what to throw.

She wanted, needed that damn chain! TICK, TICK, TICK!

Good try, Irina, he thought, but merely raised his eyebrow at her in the mirror. "Earrings?" He asked. "What did they look like?"

"You know what they looked like! Don't be such a…."

"Prick?" He asked, laughing at her.

She ground her teeth. "I swear…You remember them. Gold, dangling earrings you got on a trip to Turkey, at least that's what you said. Was it Turkey?"

"Why? You didn't have me bugged while I was getting the specs for that op?"

"No. Don't be such a smartass. Even if you are good at it." She said snidely.

"So, what are you going to do? Bite me?" He goaded her. Goaded her into a different road, away from her clear destination, asking about the damn chain. No, that was one question he did not intend to answer. What could he say, "I plead the Fifth Amendment? The chain? Gee, I forget where I put it." Like that would work with Irina Derevko.

She stood up and whirled around. Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. He smirked, enjoying the view in the mirror. She shot out a hand and grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes up. "What is that face for, Jack?"

"Just wondering what other…tools, other than the brush, you might have in your pack? I realize the options at the Hotel California, Chez Bristow suite are somewhat limited, but…you were always inventive…"

"What?" she asked carefully. This was very precarious. "Like what?"

"Oh, moisturizer, lotion…that kind of thing….Although, don't move. I'm enjoying the view, Irina…You have quite the…smart ass too. Still….nice and tight and perky." He dropped the brush to squeeze her rear end in both hands. 
"Perky? Really?" she asked, twisting around to look at herself.

He laughed aloud, "Since when are you vain or self-conscious? Is this a manifestation of your….age?"

She growled at him. He continued, running a finger across her neck, "What I was about to say, is that you have a few dry spots on your skin. I know that soap in the bathroom at 'home' isn't good for sensitive skin, it did a number on mine when I had to stay there. Or maybe, it's my fault? Maybe it's burn from my beard? I should have shaved, I guess. So, hmm, maybe you need some moisturizer? You know - for wrinkles and dry skin? If you have some in your pack, get it out and I'll be happy, more than happy, ecstatic - shall we say - to rub it in for you. All over. Hmm?"

"Oh, shut up," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not the one with all the silver hair. And you know - " she sighed. "You really should let it grow longer, Jack. You have wonderful hair and I like it longer…." She reached out to touch his hair, rub it between her fingers. Then she startled him by leaning over him and rubbing her face, each side, against his hair, startled him with the almost feline-look of enjoyment on her face he saw in the mirror. Ah, he realized, she was saving up every memory, every tactile sensation she could while she still had time. Tick she was hearing. Good, it would make her careless. But, it was a good idea….She was full of them. He closed his own eyes, enjoying her touch.

"Well, you could have dyed your hair, I suppose. But then again…." He said with a smile in his voice, opening his eyes to see her reaction.

"What?" she growled, pulling back to look at his face, almost missing the tick in her irritation and her relief at his clear attempt to tease. Perhaps she had more time than she thought if he was willing to play around like this. She ran a gentle hand around the edges of his face.

"After tonight, I'd know the truth wouldn't I? That is, unless your mania for detail led you to ensure that….your collar and cuffs match?" He leered at her in the mirror and she laughed, relaxed. And good, he was away from her pack.

"So, I'm curious about your pack…" he began, feeling her heart rate increase every so slightly under his hand. "Is it as bad as your purse used to be?"

"Ha. Ha. Why is it men complain about women's purses and then when you need something, never think to say, 'gee, glad your purse has everything in it!'"

"Because it would mean admitting we were wrong? Hmm. Who does that sound like?"

"Very funny. I am prostrate with laughter."

Okay, enough fun and games. Time to get this op back on track. "You know one time I was nearly prostrate with laughter? I don't think I ever told you this…"

"Told me what?" she asked in a combination of curiosity and caution. Jack's secrets were never good. For her, anyway.

"That I found your diaphragm case on the floor of the car the morning after the night we conceived Sydney ?"

The silence was deafening. Well, nearly deafening. She could hear the pounding of her blood, now in time with the damn ticking. Thud, Tick, Thud, Tick, THUD, TICK, THUD THUD THUD.

He bit his lip to keep his grin from exploding. She was going to go ballistic. This was so good.

"What? What!" She began swearing in Russian. Then took a breath and growled, "No, no, you did not, Jonathan Donahue Bristow, and you know it!" 
He shrugged, sat back and clasped his hand more firmly on her waist and waited. 1, 2, 3….ah, some things never changed.

"You knew? You knew! You son of a bitch!" she began to lunge forward but was stopped by the press of his arms and hands against her. She debated about taking him down, just to do it, just to show she could. Oh what the hell, she thought and began pushing at him. To her annoyance, he just gave in and let her push him to his back.

"Happy now?" he asked snidely and sat back up. "You've been waiting to do that, I bet, for thirty years, haven't you?"

"Yes! And you just took all the fun out of it by just allowing me---" She broke off as he used the strength of his own arms and hands and her confusion stupefying her to force her to face the mirror again. She creased her forehead in confusion as he began brushing her hair again.

"Oh, get over it. I have no doubt that our…association in the future will give you ample opportunities to…make me fall."

"Oh, shut up. Let's get back to the point at hand. Why didn't you tell me about the damn diaphragm the next morning? Why? How could you keep that from me?"

"Oh, what difference did it make? To Laura Bristow? To the woman I thought was my wife? Oops. I was wrong, though. My mistake. Do accept my apologies." He shrugged, willing himself to just keep playing, keep playing the hand. He stopped his thoughts, stopped from wondering if he had told her that day, if it would have made it easier, the earlier she had known, to have an abortion.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, her teeth gritted. "You owe me an answer!"

He kept a bland expression on his face, just to irritate. Why not? It would have to last him a lifetime. Tick, Tick Move it, Bristow.

"Owe you? Do I? Really? Well, let's see. I knew you or rather Laura would be insane - Little Miss Five Year Family Plan, right? Or so I thought. And Laura Bristow in a mood was something to be avoided, was it not? When her stubbornness met up with reality - that was never fun for me. And more importantly - after all, I was not that big of a coward -- I thought it would not make any difference….. After all, I thought…" he pulled the brush too roughly through a tangle and then muttered, "Sorry," when she looked up sharply. She watched his hand tighten around the brush and felt only curiosity. He would never hurt her after all. His hand loosened again, ah, she was right. "After all, I thought you - Laura -- would be as happy as I would be once you got over your little snit. I thought that although it might upset your, Laura's applecart a little - lord knows how Laura hated it when her plans, her schemes were tangled up by life's little exigencies and surprises - that she, you, would immediately realize that your plan was less important than the ultimate goal of having a family." Why was he interchanging "Laura" with "you"? He was confusing her. She frowned. He continued, "I thought, honestly, that you'd get mad, get over it and then you'd laugh."

She sucked in a breath and he stared at her curiously. When she said nothing, he continued, "Be happy and laugh. But then, the laugh was on me wasn't it? When I thought that who cared, really, when we started our family, so long as we had one? That, so what if it happened a little earlier than your damn plan? After all, I did not know that your damn plan included no children at all, did I? As far as I knew, as far as you told me, Laura wanted children, just not quite yet. It would have never occurred to me that Laura would have wanted to know so early so that you could…investigate your options!" Control, Bristow, control…..it was slipping, he could….

She bit her lip. This was not a good conversation…He knew, he knew. TICK, TICK, TICK! Quick, throw it back…."Jack, you still should have ---"

He threw the brush across the room and faced her in the mirror. "You contemplated having an abortion, didn't you?"

"Honestly?" she asked, tilting her chin up.

"Do you know the meaning of the word?" he asked coldly.

"Yes," she said hotly.

"Yes, you know the meaning or yes, you contemplated an abortion?" He asked tightly

"Both!" she said without thought, then cringed watching his eyes darken with pain in the mirror. Oh, no. This hurt. Him and her. It hurt her to see his pain…she did not want this, there was nothing productive to be gained by this expression of…was it anger or vulnerability? Vulnerable? Jack? She closed her own eyes. Then to her shock, he leaned forward and put his forehead on her shoulder, tightened his arms around her waist.

"Are you…" he began and then stopped. She opened her eyes, able to see only his arms around her, the breadth of his shoulders behind her, the top of his head where it rested on her shoulder.

"What? Just ask me, Jack," she urged softly, putting her hands on top of his.

"Are you sorry you…" he stopped again.

"No, I'm not sorry I had her. Never. Never," she said softly, and squeezed his hands in hers. He lifted his head. Looked up at her, finally, blinking his eyes rapidly and looked away, a note of such sadness on his face that she could have sworn she heard music playing in the background, some song of loss and despair.

Why, though? Shouldn't he be happy that she had made the choice to have Sydney? Why was he so sad? Why did she have to see that vulnerability on his face, a look she had never seen…or was it acknowledged before? Why? Why now? TICK

Then, then, he had a different look on his face, equally puzzling to her. A look like he had just been given the entire world in a basket. He had been looking at her body with a small smile on his face, a glint of something in his eyes that she did not recognize. They lay side-by-side together in the bed, their breathing returning to normal. Jack had turned on his right side, levering himself up on his elbow. Bending over Laura, he gave her a gentle kiss. With his left hand, he began tracing the curves of his wife's body. When he reached her hips, he moved his hand back up to her waist and traced the chain that encircled it. Sliding a tentative finger under the gold, he was able to touch her skin with just his fingertip. "Mmm," she said. "That always feels so….intimate. That's one reason we both love this chain, isn't it? It's just…the two of us."

"I don't think so," he said softly, looking into her eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked sleepily, then yawned, too exhausted to do more than wonder lazily about that gleam in his eyes. He didn't want to make love again, did he? She was too tired….

"Laura, didn't you notice this chain is a little tight?"

"Hmm," she said, turning slightly to nuzzle into his arm.

Tracing her breasts with his free hand, he whispered, "Don't these feel, look, different?"

"I think you're a little too obsessed with my body sometimes, Jack," she smiled up at him, wondering why he seemed so…. 
"Umm…when's the last time you had your period?" he asked softly.

Her eyes snapped open. He began laughing as she jackknifed into a sitting position. Looking down at her body, she was the picture of stupefaction

"Go look in the mirrors," he urged her, sitting up too. When she just sat there looking at him in total shock, he got out of bed and pulled her up. Turning her around, he stood her in front of him, facing the mirrors. "See?" he said softly, as his hands skimmed her breasts. Then caressing her skin while waiting for her to acknowledge the obvious, he pulled her against him to support her trembling legs. He slid a finger into the chain and said softly, "See? Your body is already changing. I can't fit my hand inside the chain anymore, just my fingertips. I can't believe you did not notice before, to tell you the truth. I think we're having a baby. Isn't that wonderful? Aren't you excited?!"

He had been filled with joy.

She burst into tears.

"Oh, honey, what is it?" he asked. "I know it's not your game plan, not yet. But aren't you happy, anyway?" Or was it just hormones, he had been thinking, but had been wise enough not to say. Then, he had been surprised at her response. Well, only a little. She was never too fond of surprises.

"It's just….not what I planned. It can't be, it can't be…it's not my plan, not my plan at all!" The words just tumbled out.

He laughed. "I know, Little Miss Five Year Plan, but we'll just start our family a little earlier than we planned. Does it really matter, in the long run?"

"I…I…" She could feel her eyes open as wide as possible, feel her mouth hang open in shock.  
"Whhhh, when?" she stuttered. "How?" She bit her lip, she needed to get some control or the game, all of the games, would be over in an instant. Well, not all of them….she could always play the last card, the truth. But….she couldn't think right now. What was he saying?

"I think the how is pretty obvious, or do I need to explain, again about what happens when a man and a woman love each other….?" He teased, then ducked when she swung at him. "As for the when, when's the last time you had your period?" he asked again.

"I….about two weeks before the night you…buried your beeper," she said with wide eyes, while he bit his lip to keep from laughing. Oh, he'd buried something that night, but somehow he didn't think she'd appreciate the humor right now. Her little five year family plan had just been shot to hell, so discretion was the best play in this little game right now. Yup. Best to bluff, just play along while she got over her shock and then became as happy as he was. "My diaphr….Oh, no. I totally forgot! That entire night, it never occurred to me! You were right, that wasn't the best option for us and oh no….I should have never gone off of the Pill or I should have…"

Her mind ground to a halt. Then restarted, trying to find the logical path through this hall of mirrors before her time ran out. But she felt like she was just running into one glassy wall after another, shattering one silvered slice of glass, then another, then another, then another, growing smaller and less powerful and her image less clear with each slam into a mirror. All the while hearing the clock tick, tick, ticking on the wall, telling her that she would never find her way out in time, that she would be trapped before she found the way to escape. Trapped by the conflicts between her competing needs and desires, trapped in the endlessly-repeating visions of her own frightened face. "Jack," she blurted out to her own surprise, grabbing onto his hands, "I'm scared!"

"Oh, honey," he said, gathering her up in his arms, hauling her on to his lap, rocking her back and forth. He had been the sweetest man. She had not deserved him. "Don't worry so much. We've been talking about a family forever…" Well, he had been, she had been trying to avoid it forever, pretending to agree but managing to postpone it with her planning. As always the best game used at least some of the truth. Her desire for plans and strategies would serve her….Then he said, "I'll take care of you. Take care of this baby and the others too. You know that."

"I know, but….I'm not going to be able to wear the chain for much longer and then…"

"The chain?" He said, perplexed. Why was she fixating on a piece of jewelry? Okay, an important piece of jewelry to them as a symbol, but still…nothing in comparison to the symbol growing within her. "You won't be able to wear it ….And then what?" he asked gently, trying to understand.

"Then I won't feel…I won't know…." She wobbled out.

"Laura, look at me." She tilted her face up. He brushed gentle kisses across it, drying her salty tears with his lips, finally settling a tender kiss on her mouth. "You have to have faith. You will always belong to me. Always. Just as I will always belong to you. The chain, the rings…nothing means as much as what is in our hearts." He had been both right and wrong. What was in their hearts was forever, even though he had initially tried to deny it. This night in Panama proved what she had always known, that they could always find each other. But if she did not have him in the future, she wanted that chain! That damn chain…she remembered him tugging on it gently as he waited for her response that night.

"And the baby? You want the baby?" she asked, gripping his arms with her strong hands.

"Do I want the baby? Haven't you been listening….forever? I want the baby the way I want you. I need you. Forever. And the baby that's growing under your heart right now is…. Remember, the chain is a circle, an endless circle composed of endless circles? The baby will be one more of those endless circles that holds us together."

"Forever?"

"Forever and a day. I promised you that the first time we were together, on our wedding day, inside your wedding band. Inside my heart."

She sighed, "You would love me and the baby, forever and a day, won't you?"

"Of course. You know that. Love brought us together, brought us here today, will keep us together forever. Love." He traced gentle hands across her abdomen and then gently held her breasts before moving up to cup her face. Kissing her, he asked, "That's how you start, after all, isn't it?" She nodded. He continued, "We made a baby because we love each other. That's the future, the hope for the future, a baby. There's nothing more natural. I love you."

"I love you. Even if…" she paused, got some small measure of control back enough to change her line of speech to something more expected, "Even if it's all your fault."

He had laughed. "How is it all my fault? I believe this situation requires two people, does it not?"

"Yes, but that night…"

"Which night?" Now, she wanted to shriek. He was the best bluffer she had ever met. Then or….

"The night you pretended to resign. That must be it. That night. The night you lost control and I did too. See - if you had not lost control….I would not have and…."

"Ah, I see. Well, then I'll always be grateful to losing control. Sometimes - I'll have to remind myself---" 
"Mr. Control Freak?"

"Oh, stop it. I'll have to remind myself that losing control can have wonderful consequences." She had wrapped her arms around his neck and he had lowered them to the bed. They had kissed and caressed each other until they had fallen asleep, as they so often did, entwined, enmeshed.

He had said, just before he fell asleep, "You know what, Laura? We have it all, everything. Faith, hope and love, past, present, future, you, me, us - now a bigger us," he smiled, "Soon a bigger you?" as he palmed her belly. "Now, we have it all."

Did they? How could they have it all? At least for a while longer? Watching him fall asleep, she wished desperately that she could run this game with him. Wished desperately for a drink, but that would not be good for the…..What were her options? She thought frantically, knowing she needed to analyze this on her own. And quickly. She had to come up with a plan by the time Jack woke up. If only he could help…but no. No one could help her through this nightmare. No one. Okay, take a deep breath. Maybe she wasn't pregnant. She closed her eyes, nodded. That could be….No, she shook her head. She was. She knew it, knew it deep within. She only wondered why she had forgotten to use that diaphragm, had not noticed the absence of her periods…What was wrong with her! Focus, Derevko, she told herself firmly, as Jack's arm tightened around her in his sleep.

Option A for her personal goals, if she allowed herself to feel what she needed, would be to have this baby, be with Jack, AND still play in the game. That would be the ultimate option. How to achieve it? That would require some thought. Could she convince them that it was just one more tactic to seal her authenticity? Okay, that was one option. Move along, Derevko. Endless debate is not an option.

Option B, well, she knew what protocol stated, what she had been taught: an immediate abortion. After all in the Soviet Union at the time, abortion was just another form of birth control, no big deal; for someone in her line of work it meant merely a reprimand for carelessness, a black mark on her personnel file. And if so, what would she do? Well, she could have an abortion while he was away on an op, say it was a miscarriage. He would have no way of knowing otherwise. Then she could have a tubal ligation - which she should have done before, but in her weakness, had not - and tell him that the miscarriage had rendered her sterile. She sucked in a little breath, that option would hurt him. But then again, she was only supposed to be here for five years….So, even if she hurt him….no, even if the situation hurt him, he would go on, get remarried, have other children with some other tall, thin brunette. But damn it! That was not what she wanted! She wanted it all! But….if she had an abortion, would her 'mistake' prove her untrustworthiness, would they make her leave before her five years were up? If so, she would not have the baby, would not have Jack, would be set back in her career path, in the game? That was not acceptable. How to avoid that? She began to breathe heavily, struggled to control her terror. She could not wake Jack, he would start to wonder at what he would consider an inappropriately-panicked response even from someone he teased regularly about the importance of her little plans and goals. And why was she so afraid - she knew what her options were, she just needed to choose one, after all. There were only two, how hard should it be? Just two….

"I'll take care of you. Take care of this baby and the others too. You know that." She heard his voice in her head so loudly she glanced down, expecting to see his lips move, expecting to hear him mumbling in his sleep as he did so often. But his mouth was closed, a little smile on it. Looking so innocent, so sweet, just like their baby would if it were a little boy…would it look like her if it were a little girl? No, she should not think of the baby like that…she should not think of it as a baby at all. No, no. She reached out a damp, trembling hand and smoothed her fingers over his hair, pushing it back from his face, the better to see that profile of his…that set of photos….Could she take them with her if she had to leave? What should she take with her? She glanced over at her jewelry box, then down at the chain around her waist. Once again, as she did so often, she envied him his ignorance of the truth. He was not the one lying awake, frantic, desperate, sweating with fear. He was lucky. She heard it again, "I'll take care of you. Take care of this baby and the others too. You know that." Why was her brain doing that…taking that annoying elliptical path that Jack employed so often…why, when she needed to focus, to concentrate, to examine the costs and benefits of Options A and B? Why? But there it was again, very slowly this time, as if she were an idiot! "I'll take care of you. Take care of this baby and the others too. You know that."

And with that, she had relaxed, felt her breathing calm, her heartbeat slow, the clock stop its mad race. It would be okay. He would take care of her, of them. He was absolutely reliable and trustworthy. There was an Option C. This was Jack, there was always an option C. If she had to tell him the truth, she would. He would fix the problem. She could…defect if she had to. She would have Jack and the baby. The baby…she squeezed her eyes closed as she acknowledged how much she wanted to have the baby. Her baby, his baby, their baby. It would not be the life she had wanted, planned; she would be considered a failure by her peers, her parents. Could she do that…walk away from the game? She was no Jack Bristow, who could do it, convince himself that he was strong enough to do it…when if - was this disloyal to him - if he were stronger he would be prepared to make the sacrifices necessary to play the game. She winced; she could not have been thrilled at his willingness to throw it all away for Laura and denigrate him for it at the same time, could she? That was illogical. So, was he stronger or weaker for that ability to walk away without a backward glance with no second guessing, no hesitation? Could she do that?

In the morning he woke up to find her staring at him. He smiled, grinned actually. She smiled, slowly, in return. "You are so happy, aren't you?"

"Beyond happy. It's like when you told me you loved me for the first time. I never knew how happy I could be until you came into my life, Laura. And now, you're giving me this….what I always wanted, a family. I know you wanted to wait a while longer, but it's okay, isn't it? Well, not like we have any choice, anyway, is there? It's too late to close the barn door, now," he laughed out of sheer happiness. He opened his mouth to tell her about finding the diaphragm the next day, in the car, but she had smiled and kissed him, he had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of him.

She had wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered against his lips, "Everything will be alright, won't it, Jack?" She needed comfort, even if he did not know exactly why she needed it, even if she was misleading him. Well, not really, her panic and her fear were real, it was just the origins of those emotions that were…different. Knowing that deep within she had already laid enough seeds of guilt for the future, knowing that although he would be fine when she left - he was so strong, so self-sufficient - it would still hurt, the least she could do was give him this baby he wanted so much. This family he had talked about from the beginning. She would do as he had taught her - cast the situation in the best possible light, find the advantage.

"Of course. Don't worry so much about everything. That's a bad habit I thought I had broken you of." Remembering now, with a clearer mind, he saw that her fears had seemed assuaged by his delight, by his desires for a family, by his reassurances.

She nodded, as if to herself, as if to convince herself, "And I'll be a good mother." She had been a good mother, an excellent mother, he could not deny that. When she was here.

He laughed, "Of course you will. You have so much love to give." She had had no idea what love was until he had taught her, shown her. That was why he would be fine when she left. He would find some other woman, some other tall, thin, brunette and they would have more children. That woman would get to grow old with him, have grandchildren with him, while she….would take what she could right now. What she could give him right now. Option B was not an option, she thought, looking at his joyous face. He…deserved this baby. And this baby, any child, deserved him. He would probably spoil her or him rotten. The same way he spoiled her. With love. 
"So do you, Jack. Sometimes I think you were waiting your whole life to find someone to give love to."

His mouth dropped open. "How did you---"

"How did I know?" She smiled gently and traced his mouth with her fingertip, as she had done so very many times. "Because that's what I feel like too. That I was just waiting for you." He had wrapped his arms around her a little more tightly and kissed her over and over until the tears in her eyes had long-since dried and she fell asleep in the loving comfort of his arms.

She had needed the comfort, having made her decision, to try Option A first. Luckily, she had not had to chose Option C, luckily she had been able to employ Option A, been able to convince them that the baby would cement her cover, would provide a useful hostage if need be. Luckily she had done so well in her persuasion and her work that she had been given an extension on her assignment. Luckily she could have it all, the game, her goals, oh, so many things, and… him and Sydney. She had not had to tell the truth and therefore she had had it all, everything. For a while. For longer than she had ever expected. Their time together had been a gift, one she had given him and herself. Option A had been the perfect solution and in the end, a good memory, the memory of his love and caring. She held onto his hands tightly.

He pulled his hands away from the strength of her grip, rested them on her hips. It should have been a good memory. Of all the memories he had been able to recover recently, this, he knew, would not be one of them. Even after he had learned the truth, he had been…confused, until Arvin had pointed out the obvious, that she could have had an abortion. If he had meant to be helpful, he had not succeeded. Instead this memory was blighted by his awareness of the disparity in their reactions to her pregnancy. By his retroactive fear that she had probably been considering an abortion even as they spoke, even as he became suffused with excitement and contentment. While he had been ecstatic, believing that he had everything he'd ever wanted, that the future, their family was just beginning, she had been debating bringing an end to it. Then he became perplexed that she had not had one while he was away on some mission and told him she suffered a miscarriage. She could have done that, he would have never known otherwise. He wondered what pressures she might have had to withstand from her case officer, from Cuvee to abort the baby. Wondered why she had done so. If only, if only, she had told him the truth, asked for his help…How different all their lives might have been. He could not look at her yet, even though he felt her gaze upon him. He had to get back in the game. Control, Bristow, control.

He was still evading her and she wanted to know, before they parted, the answers to some questions.

Remembering the night they conceived Sydney….his willingness to leave the Agency behind, she had often wondered…"Will you answer a question for me, Jack? Is it my turn to ask a question tonight?" she asked softly. When he did not answer, she turned and grasped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "Did you ever think about getting out? Then? I mean, it's too late, now…."

"Is it? I could still…."

"Jack….c'mon…the die is cast, isn't it? For us?"

He looked at her, searching. Then sighed, "Yes, it probably is. If…." If she had only told him the truth….What was the point?

"If what?"

"If the night I had that fight with my boss over the screw and skedaddle missions, when he suggested I change careers - maybe if I'd done so, then….but you talked me out of it, didn't you?"

She nodded her head. Asked hesitantly, "Are you angry about that - that you did not leave then?" 
"No, no…, I can't be, I won't be," he shook his head, dislodging her hands to his shoulders.

"Why not?"

He stood up. "If I'd gotten out then, the KGB would have recalled you and you would have gone away - unknowingly pregnant with Sydney. Wouldn't you?"

She nodded.

"But then again, not pregnant for long, would it have been?"

"That's moot. I was able to convince them that it would--"

"Wait. Wait. I need to think….Why did you try and convince them - why did you make the attempt?"

TBC at Chapter 12 Part 1 section 2 of 2