My other J/I fic
Title: She Made My Bed
Fandom: Alias
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, it belongs to JJ Abrams.
Spoilers: To the end of season 2. Set post-The Telling
Pairings: Jack/Irina
Summary: Jack contemplates Irina's motives
Rating: PG
She made my bed.
I wonder what this means, in the grand scheme of things. Everything Irina Derevko does has a calculated purpose, and I'm certain that this also applies to simple things one would not normally think about. Such as making beds.
Last night was the first time I've seen Irina since she escaped from CIA custody some months ago, betraying me once again. She had played me for a fool, but when Sydney's apartment burned down, and she went missing -- I don't care what they say, my daughter is not dead -- I knew that if anyone could find her, it would be Irina.
Contacting her had been difficult, but nothing I had not expected. It gave me something to do with my time, aside from thinking of what the people who have taken Sydney are doing to her, a thought that haunts me whenever I have any spare time to think. Is she cold, frightened, hungry, in pain? I have failed as a father many times before, and I will never do it again. I will find Sydney, somehow.
I finally located Irina in Berlin, and once I explained what had happened, she immediately set up a place for a meeting where we could not be overheard, and ended up staying there a lot longer than either one of us had expected.
When I woke up this morning, she appeared to still be asleep, but when I got out of the shower, she was gone. However, the bed is now neatly made the way she made it every day throughout the ten years of our marriage. The covers are neatly tucked under the mattress, covering the first set of pillows completely, while the other pillows sit on top of them. I wonder briefly if this is an "Irina" thing, or a "Laura" thing. Maybe there's more of Laura in Irina than I'd like to think.
But now she's gone, and I don't have a protocol for contacting her again. Was she only playing with me, discussing leads and love last night? I can believe she'd do that to me, but I refuse to think that she'd do that to Sydney. For a man who prides himself on being rational in every situation, I am constantly being fooled by Irina Derevko.
Suddenly, I notice a piece of paper lying on top of the pillows.
Sorry I had to leave so suddenly, something important came up. Last night was fun, we'll have to do it again sometime. Chat channel #047174247, Handel_4_Me, message 'Distinguished composer seeks music lover.'
Miss you.
I hold the paper in my hand, read it over again, and allow myself a smile. Laura Bristow wasn't as dead as I thought. After all, she made my bed.
Fandom: Alias
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, it belongs to JJ Abrams.
Spoilers: To the end of season 2. Set post-The Telling
Pairings: Jack/Irina
Summary: Jack contemplates Irina's motives
Rating: PG
She made my bed.
I wonder what this means, in the grand scheme of things. Everything Irina Derevko does has a calculated purpose, and I'm certain that this also applies to simple things one would not normally think about. Such as making beds.
Last night was the first time I've seen Irina since she escaped from CIA custody some months ago, betraying me once again. She had played me for a fool, but when Sydney's apartment burned down, and she went missing -- I don't care what they say, my daughter is not dead -- I knew that if anyone could find her, it would be Irina.
Contacting her had been difficult, but nothing I had not expected. It gave me something to do with my time, aside from thinking of what the people who have taken Sydney are doing to her, a thought that haunts me whenever I have any spare time to think. Is she cold, frightened, hungry, in pain? I have failed as a father many times before, and I will never do it again. I will find Sydney, somehow.
I finally located Irina in Berlin, and once I explained what had happened, she immediately set up a place for a meeting where we could not be overheard, and ended up staying there a lot longer than either one of us had expected.
When I woke up this morning, she appeared to still be asleep, but when I got out of the shower, she was gone. However, the bed is now neatly made the way she made it every day throughout the ten years of our marriage. The covers are neatly tucked under the mattress, covering the first set of pillows completely, while the other pillows sit on top of them. I wonder briefly if this is an "Irina" thing, or a "Laura" thing. Maybe there's more of Laura in Irina than I'd like to think.
But now she's gone, and I don't have a protocol for contacting her again. Was she only playing with me, discussing leads and love last night? I can believe she'd do that to me, but I refuse to think that she'd do that to Sydney. For a man who prides himself on being rational in every situation, I am constantly being fooled by Irina Derevko.
Suddenly, I notice a piece of paper lying on top of the pillows.
Sorry I had to leave so suddenly, something important came up. Last night was fun, we'll have to do it again sometime. Chat channel #047174247, Handel_4_Me, message 'Distinguished composer seeks music lover.'
Miss you.
I hold the paper in my hand, read it over again, and allow myself a smile. Laura Bristow wasn't as dead as I thought. After all, she made my bed.