The photo arrived near the end of August, a relatively uneventful month in the world of counterterrorism. The biggest things going on at CTU involved funding discrepancies, sorting through data, and of course, gossip in every corner. Nina was well aware that she was by far the biggest object of these whispered conversations in the break room, but had been trying not to care for the past six weeks.
Worry that these new stories would find their way to Division managed to keep her stressed all the same, and by the time she wrangled a day off she was in dire need of it. A long shower, a new book, and a good night's sleep had been enough to relax her.
Waking up to sunlight instead off an incessant alarm clock had been a welcome change. Closing her eyes once more she had simply laid under the covers for several minutes, enjoying the fact that she didn't have to do anything. Days off were rare in her world – weekends, laughable. She wasn't the only one. The people she worked with tended to swear off social lives, at least for awhile. Some tried to balance their demanding jobs with happy families, and a few managed it. The rest…Nina spared a glance at the sleeping figure next to her. The rest weren't as lucky.
Yawning and sliding her bare feet into a pair of worn slippers, she made her way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Glancing through the mail from the past two days, she methodically sorted the bills into a pile to be dealt with later, and threw the junk away before turning to the three envelopes left. One was a letter from an old college friend in town, wanting to have lunch. The second had no return address, and Nina slit it open with the nail on her index finger, brushing an errant strand of hair from her face.
A small stack of photos slid out, the top containing a bright yellow post it. Furrowing her brow, she read it.
'Hey, Nina, Alex and I just got back from Florida. The weather wasn't great, but we had a nice time anyway. We're coming to L.A. in October, so we'll have to get together! Give me a call. – Meghan.'
A feeling of trepidation washed over Nina as she began to shuffle through the photos. Taking care to keep them in the right order, she moved hurriedly, looking for the image that she hadn't seen for nearly 13 years, but knew as well as she knew her own face in the mirror.
It was the seventh photo, and for a long moment she just stared at it, not really feeling anything. Of course she had known that this could happen any time. The first two years, she had looked for it each day, first excitedly, then indifferently. When she began at CTU she had started looking again, for a few months, but with hesitation. It hadn't come and eventually she almost forgot.
She shouldn't have. The photo, a perky beach shop with two surfboards forming a tent-like cover over the door, glared up at her as though admonishing her for being surprised. The surfboards were each brightly decorated with flowers and a number prominently featured – a two on the first, a seven on the second.
The first time she had seen this photo had been when she was preparing to enter the U.S. for the first time since she was a child. The man who had been responsible for getting her cover together had shown it to her and explained how when they were ready to activate her, if ever, they would send her this photo, along with a note to make it look natural. "We'll use the name Alex," he'd told her, "but don't worry about that. The photo is all you need to know. We'll send you this photograph, along with several others. Each photo will have at least one number on it. In order, the numbers will form a phone number where you can reach us. When you receive this photo, call that number. You'll get further instructions there."
Tearing her eyes away from the photo, she glanced through the others. Sure enough, each photo contained a number somewhere on the glossy paper – some subtle, some more obvious. She would have to call soon. Today, maybe tomorrow.
Suddenly not wanting to look at them anymore, she arranged them into the order they arrived and stuffed them back in the envelope, before burying it under the latest issue of The New Yorker. Closing her eyes, she let out a deep sigh.
When had she begun to doubt? She'd been here for almost 13 years with no hint of her employers, the people who had sent her here in the first place. The years at Division had been long and somewhat boring, but she'd started to like it there. The people were generally nice, though there were the bosses, and she felt like she was accomplishing something. CTU had been even better.
She hadn't lied when she applied for the jobs. Everything on her resume was the absolute truth. She had studied abroad for many years, focusing on the criminal mind with an emphasis on terrorism. Being exposed to the different cultures had at first been a chance for her to weave what she knew into different religions and fanatic organizations. Somewhere along the way, though, she just stopped. Four years later she was working at Division, doing exactly what she had planned all along – every bit the deep cover sleeper.
She wondered what they wanted her to do. It had to be big, to risk exposing her. Really big. That scared her, a bit. But there was no sense worrying now, because there was no way to back out. They'd meet their goal anyway.
"Nina?" A hoarse voice called her name from behind, and she blinked, focusing her vision. "What are you doing?"
"Sorry," she replied, her voice detached yet somehow as composed as ever. "I was just making some coffee. You want some?"
Jack nodded, yawning and making his way over to her. "Yeah, that would be good," he replied. "I need to be at Division for a meeting for 9:45."
"Fun," Nina commented, mechanically pouring him a mug and handing it to him before making one for herself. She added one spoonful of sugar and a little milk, as she always did. Jack took his black, had for as long as she'd known him. "What's it about?"
"Just bureaucracy," he rolled his eyes. "Basically five hours with Brad Hammond, Ryan Chappelle, George Mason, and all of those guys yelling at me about how I run the place, questioning me about every mistake made in the last year, and telling me how unfit I am to be the director of CTU."
"Sorry," Nina said sympathetically as she took a small sip of coffee. Glancing at the clock, she looked at him with a slightly different expression. Whatever happens, I hope Jack isn't involved. But she could think about that later.
"You know, you don't have to be there till 9:45…" her voice trailed off. A smirk appeared on Jack's face.
"That's true," he said, setting his mug down. "What could we do with that time?"
She leaned up to give him a kiss, relishing in the feeling of closeness she had become accustomed to over the past few weeks. This would have to end, soon – she had known that for awhile. There was Teri to think about, who would inevitably want Jack to go home. There was Division, and the reaction they would have if they found out that the Director of CTU was involved with his Chief of Staff. And now there was this…whatever this was. But she'd figure that out later. Right now, she needed to pretend that nothing had changed. Just for a little while.