(no subject)
The world must be flat! Because -- get this -- I have written one of Madi's fic requests!! Hallelujah, my friends. Hallelujah.
Challenge: Five times Irina almost admitted her double agentness to Jack while she was Laura. (I cheated a little with the last one.)
Pairing: Jack/Irina
Spoilers: Through season five, 'Maternal Instinct'
Word Count: 648
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05. When he looks at her for the first time, he does it neutrally; he’s not particularly interested and for some reason an odd unexpected fury bubbles up in her as he brushes out of the library past her without so much as a second glance, without anything like interest. I’ll ruin your life, she thinks viciously, I’ll tear you apart, but she keeps her eyes demure and looks back to her book like it’s nothing at all, not out the window as he steps into the sun.
04. It’s raining outside and they’re walking down the street, neither of them with an umbrella and (so chivalrous) he opens his coat and pulls her close to him. She wants to confess for an instant, maybe just so she can hear it out loud, but the wind is wailing too loudly for her to be heard and their feet stumble in perfect, matching rhythms, anyhow.
03. It’s late and they’ve both had a bit too much to drink and the Christmas lights she’d strung around the window all bleed into each other, a lovely vibrant haze. They sit across from each other at the kitchen table and she knows every line of his face and the names of his parents and precisely why they don’t talk anymore and it’s not because she’s read it hard and certain black-on-white but because he’s told her, and it’s funny and remarkable, this thing between them; he isn’t one for confidences. She knows his hands against her skin and the way he fixes his coffee. He writes in all capital letters and plays the piano beautifully but never sings.
‘Tell me a secret,’ she says and tilts her head coyly, smiles.
‘You know all of mine,’ he responds, cavalier and almost fond. (She likes when he smiles because it always seems exceptional; he makes a show of being so grim, so serious.) ‘Your turn.’
02. Sydney falls asleep in her arms after crying for hours and he sits awkwardly on the side of their bed, one arm around her, dark shadows under his eyes, unshaven and exhausted and perfect.
‘I love you,’ he whispers against her hair, and for an instant, she almost tells him, because she’s so tired already and can’t help suspecting there’s no room for lies in this moment, just the three of them and the quiet, just this horrible perfect delicate little world.
01. Sydney falls asleep on the flight to Toronto and she is radiant, breathing deep and even, hands resting loosely over the gentle swell of her stomach. Irina will never feel the baby kick or pick out clichéd birthday gifts in gentle pinks or sky blues, but she doesn’t think of it right now; just watches her daughter and feels wonderfully ancient, as though the things she has to do aren’t quite so important anymore.
She sneaks a glance at Jack. He is staring at Sydney in a way that makes Irina feel safe, reassured somehow - their daughter is his world and at least there’s that, that knowledge that he will do anything to protect her. He is so much better than she is and she wishes she could tell him thank you, but there’s no time for that. They’ll be arriving in Toronto soon, and that will be the end of it.
Jack feels her gaze and looks up and for a moment they simply stare at one another, not quite needing words, not after everything that’s brought them here.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he says after a moment, and it’s unnecessary and sweet and she thinks she might as well be Laura, or that perhaps he’s finally given up on trying to see the difference.
She keeps her lips closed while she smiles, and catches his hand in hers; savours the rightness of their entwined fingers (after all this time) for a few seconds before letting go.
Challenge: Five times Irina almost admitted her double agentness to Jack while she was Laura. (I cheated a little with the last one.)
Pairing: Jack/Irina
Spoilers: Through season five, 'Maternal Instinct'
Word Count: 648
-
05. When he looks at her for the first time, he does it neutrally; he’s not particularly interested and for some reason an odd unexpected fury bubbles up in her as he brushes out of the library past her without so much as a second glance, without anything like interest. I’ll ruin your life, she thinks viciously, I’ll tear you apart, but she keeps her eyes demure and looks back to her book like it’s nothing at all, not out the window as he steps into the sun.
04. It’s raining outside and they’re walking down the street, neither of them with an umbrella and (so chivalrous) he opens his coat and pulls her close to him. She wants to confess for an instant, maybe just so she can hear it out loud, but the wind is wailing too loudly for her to be heard and their feet stumble in perfect, matching rhythms, anyhow.
03. It’s late and they’ve both had a bit too much to drink and the Christmas lights she’d strung around the window all bleed into each other, a lovely vibrant haze. They sit across from each other at the kitchen table and she knows every line of his face and the names of his parents and precisely why they don’t talk anymore and it’s not because she’s read it hard and certain black-on-white but because he’s told her, and it’s funny and remarkable, this thing between them; he isn’t one for confidences. She knows his hands against her skin and the way he fixes his coffee. He writes in all capital letters and plays the piano beautifully but never sings.
‘Tell me a secret,’ she says and tilts her head coyly, smiles.
‘You know all of mine,’ he responds, cavalier and almost fond. (She likes when he smiles because it always seems exceptional; he makes a show of being so grim, so serious.) ‘Your turn.’
02. Sydney falls asleep in her arms after crying for hours and he sits awkwardly on the side of their bed, one arm around her, dark shadows under his eyes, unshaven and exhausted and perfect.
‘I love you,’ he whispers against her hair, and for an instant, she almost tells him, because she’s so tired already and can’t help suspecting there’s no room for lies in this moment, just the three of them and the quiet, just this horrible perfect delicate little world.
01. Sydney falls asleep on the flight to Toronto and she is radiant, breathing deep and even, hands resting loosely over the gentle swell of her stomach. Irina will never feel the baby kick or pick out clichéd birthday gifts in gentle pinks or sky blues, but she doesn’t think of it right now; just watches her daughter and feels wonderfully ancient, as though the things she has to do aren’t quite so important anymore.
She sneaks a glance at Jack. He is staring at Sydney in a way that makes Irina feel safe, reassured somehow - their daughter is his world and at least there’s that, that knowledge that he will do anything to protect her. He is so much better than she is and she wishes she could tell him thank you, but there’s no time for that. They’ll be arriving in Toronto soon, and that will be the end of it.
Jack feels her gaze and looks up and for a moment they simply stare at one another, not quite needing words, not after everything that’s brought them here.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he says after a moment, and it’s unnecessary and sweet and she thinks she might as well be Laura, or that perhaps he’s finally given up on trying to see the difference.
She keeps her lips closed while she smiles, and catches his hand in hers; savours the rightness of their entwined fingers (after all this time) for a few seconds before letting go.