I Know You Love Him
Chapter One: Goodbye
I miss them, Irina. The missions we used to go on together, the ops we used to plan. How much leeway we were given by Khasinau, how he favored us over all the new recruits! I've often wondered since then, if it was it really because we were that good, or simply because he desired you? But then, most men do, a fact that you have never forgotten or ceased to use to your advantage. Which is why you were chosen for the assignment, and I was not. I wonder, if you knew how much it would have changed your life, changed your very identity, would you still have done it?
I did enjoy helping you, however. Assisting you in becoming "Americanized." I enjoyed those rare occasions when I got to critique and correct you. When you got angry with me, you always slipped right out of your "American" accent and back into your normal way of speaking. We had to work on that a lot because we knew emotional situations would be the most dangerous, the times when you would be most likely to slip up. It was easy to don a convincing accent for a mission spanning a matter of hours, days, even weeks or months, but this - this was entirely different. This mission could span years.
I tried not to think about that. Every time I wondered about how long it would be before I saw you again, I brushed my concerns aside. After all, this was bigger than both of us. This was for Russia, to whom we owed our very souls. Besides, I would rather have died than admit to you how much I would miss you. Who could I partner with on missions, and be as sure of my safety as I was with you? The KGB would order me to trust my life to someone else now, a fellow agent, no doubt one at least as skilled and probably more experienced than I was. I would work with whoever they assigned me, but they could not command the instinctive allegiance of my heart. There were no fellow agents that I thought would want to do me harm; still, you were the only one I could completely trust with my life. And I believe the same was true for you.
You became very good at it, my sister. Hiding your feelings, masking them with others, ones that are easier to feel - switching grief with rage, horror with disgust, pity with contempt. Sometimes you even fooled me. But Irina, not even you can hide the truth indefinitely. It must come out in some subtle way, as it always does. And it did. I saw it, and I know.
The month before you were to leave, we were pouring over the files of your possible targets: young, up-and-coming CIA agents with a likelihood for fast advancement within the agency. I remember how, after our initial "professional" assessments, in one of our rare moments of relaxation, we flipped idly through the files again, making comments on the men's appearances, personal histories, and speculating on what bad lovers they were - though really, that last one was mostly you. We were determinedly avoiding any serious discussion about your long-term mission and how it would affect us both.
"Yech. I hope you don't get this one." I tossed a file of a squinty- eyed man aside.
You glanced at me sideways from the one you were perusing. "You know, Katya, I think I understand why Khasinau didn't tap you for this assignment. Despite your - sufficient - looks, you just don't know how to hold a man's attention."
I picked up squinty-eye's file again and threw it at you. "On second thought, I hope you do get this one. You deserve him."
Looking at the picture, you wrinkled your nose in distaste, laughed, and chucked it halfway across the room. "Well, I have been trained to withstand torture." We both laughed. Then, unexpectedly, your face grew serious. "Katya, when I- "
"Ooh, look!" I said hastily, scrambling for something to deflect this unexpected turn in the conversation. "What about this one?"
You sighed impatiently as I handed you another file. "Katya, don't try and -" You stopped mid-sentence, cocked your head, and your expression grew pensive. You had clearly been intrigued.
"What's so interesting?" While relieved I had managed to distract you, I was also curious. Truth be told, I hadn't even looked at the file I handed you; I had just grabbed the closest one and hoped it contained something interesting enough to distract you. Apparently, I had succeeded, but I wanted to know why. Pulling myself up from the floor and sitting next to you on the bed, I peered over your shoulder to see what had so captivated your attention. It was a face. The face of a man named Jonathan D. Bristow.
"Hmm." I surveyed the photo with a cursory interest. He was rather good-looking, but then, so were several of your potential "assignments." My gaze shifted to you, as I wondered what it was about this particular man that had you so entranced. I smiled to myself when I realized I had an opportunity to irritate you. "Have a favorite now, do we?"
"Oh, shut up." You snapped, folding the file shut and looking for all the world as if you didn't care a bit about which man you were assigned to. Yet as we gathered up the files and stacked them neatly back in the corner, to be studied again later, I noticed you put Bristow's on top, smoothing the papers and thoughtfully biting your lip.
"You know, you have to remember that it's just an assignment." I cautioned, switching my tone from taunting to serious. After all, it was my job to help you prepare.
"I know." You sighed, displaying the first real sign of reluctance I had seen from throughout our preparations. "It's just - it would be nice to get someone I could . well, that I could like, you know."
"If it weren't for the fact that he was a capitalist pig."
You smiled slightly, nodded. "If it weren't for that, yes."
"Don't forget why you're going to be doing this, Irina. I know it will be very hard. I . don't think anyone else could do it, actually. No one else has the level of skill you do." You looked up at me, surprised. Other than the occasional "nice op" or "good idea," we avoided praising one another's work, as a rule. "And I'm saying that because it's true, not because you're my sister. I wish it weren't true." I muttered before I could stop myself. I felt my face flush when I realized I had said the last part out loud. "What I mean is - "
You stopped me with a look, one that I wanted to avoid, but couldn't. Then you gave me a sad smile as you wrapped me in one of your bone-crushing hugs. Those hugs were like your tears; rare, but always sincere, and welcome because they were needed. "I know, Katya. I'll miss you too."
Chapter One: Goodbye
I miss them, Irina. The missions we used to go on together, the ops we used to plan. How much leeway we were given by Khasinau, how he favored us over all the new recruits! I've often wondered since then, if it was it really because we were that good, or simply because he desired you? But then, most men do, a fact that you have never forgotten or ceased to use to your advantage. Which is why you were chosen for the assignment, and I was not. I wonder, if you knew how much it would have changed your life, changed your very identity, would you still have done it?
I did enjoy helping you, however. Assisting you in becoming "Americanized." I enjoyed those rare occasions when I got to critique and correct you. When you got angry with me, you always slipped right out of your "American" accent and back into your normal way of speaking. We had to work on that a lot because we knew emotional situations would be the most dangerous, the times when you would be most likely to slip up. It was easy to don a convincing accent for a mission spanning a matter of hours, days, even weeks or months, but this - this was entirely different. This mission could span years.
I tried not to think about that. Every time I wondered about how long it would be before I saw you again, I brushed my concerns aside. After all, this was bigger than both of us. This was for Russia, to whom we owed our very souls. Besides, I would rather have died than admit to you how much I would miss you. Who could I partner with on missions, and be as sure of my safety as I was with you? The KGB would order me to trust my life to someone else now, a fellow agent, no doubt one at least as skilled and probably more experienced than I was. I would work with whoever they assigned me, but they could not command the instinctive allegiance of my heart. There were no fellow agents that I thought would want to do me harm; still, you were the only one I could completely trust with my life. And I believe the same was true for you.
You became very good at it, my sister. Hiding your feelings, masking them with others, ones that are easier to feel - switching grief with rage, horror with disgust, pity with contempt. Sometimes you even fooled me. But Irina, not even you can hide the truth indefinitely. It must come out in some subtle way, as it always does. And it did. I saw it, and I know.
The month before you were to leave, we were pouring over the files of your possible targets: young, up-and-coming CIA agents with a likelihood for fast advancement within the agency. I remember how, after our initial "professional" assessments, in one of our rare moments of relaxation, we flipped idly through the files again, making comments on the men's appearances, personal histories, and speculating on what bad lovers they were - though really, that last one was mostly you. We were determinedly avoiding any serious discussion about your long-term mission and how it would affect us both.
"Yech. I hope you don't get this one." I tossed a file of a squinty- eyed man aside.
You glanced at me sideways from the one you were perusing. "You know, Katya, I think I understand why Khasinau didn't tap you for this assignment. Despite your - sufficient - looks, you just don't know how to hold a man's attention."
I picked up squinty-eye's file again and threw it at you. "On second thought, I hope you do get this one. You deserve him."
Looking at the picture, you wrinkled your nose in distaste, laughed, and chucked it halfway across the room. "Well, I have been trained to withstand torture." We both laughed. Then, unexpectedly, your face grew serious. "Katya, when I- "
"Ooh, look!" I said hastily, scrambling for something to deflect this unexpected turn in the conversation. "What about this one?"
You sighed impatiently as I handed you another file. "Katya, don't try and -" You stopped mid-sentence, cocked your head, and your expression grew pensive. You had clearly been intrigued.
"What's so interesting?" While relieved I had managed to distract you, I was also curious. Truth be told, I hadn't even looked at the file I handed you; I had just grabbed the closest one and hoped it contained something interesting enough to distract you. Apparently, I had succeeded, but I wanted to know why. Pulling myself up from the floor and sitting next to you on the bed, I peered over your shoulder to see what had so captivated your attention. It was a face. The face of a man named Jonathan D. Bristow.
"Hmm." I surveyed the photo with a cursory interest. He was rather good-looking, but then, so were several of your potential "assignments." My gaze shifted to you, as I wondered what it was about this particular man that had you so entranced. I smiled to myself when I realized I had an opportunity to irritate you. "Have a favorite now, do we?"
"Oh, shut up." You snapped, folding the file shut and looking for all the world as if you didn't care a bit about which man you were assigned to. Yet as we gathered up the files and stacked them neatly back in the corner, to be studied again later, I noticed you put Bristow's on top, smoothing the papers and thoughtfully biting your lip.
"You know, you have to remember that it's just an assignment." I cautioned, switching my tone from taunting to serious. After all, it was my job to help you prepare.
"I know." You sighed, displaying the first real sign of reluctance I had seen from throughout our preparations. "It's just - it would be nice to get someone I could . well, that I could like, you know."
"If it weren't for the fact that he was a capitalist pig."
You smiled slightly, nodded. "If it weren't for that, yes."
"Don't forget why you're going to be doing this, Irina. I know it will be very hard. I . don't think anyone else could do it, actually. No one else has the level of skill you do." You looked up at me, surprised. Other than the occasional "nice op" or "good idea," we avoided praising one another's work, as a rule. "And I'm saying that because it's true, not because you're my sister. I wish it weren't true." I muttered before I could stop myself. I felt my face flush when I realized I had said the last part out loud. "What I mean is - "
You stopped me with a look, one that I wanted to avoid, but couldn't. Then you gave me a sad smile as you wrapped me in one of your bone-crushing hugs. Those hugs were like your tears; rare, but always sincere, and welcome because they were needed. "I know, Katya. I'll miss you too."