Epilogue

2008

As the two Lucian agents guarded the doors, Irina approached Amy and Dan. Their faces were terrified, and guilt consumed her. She didn't like hurting children; they were so innocent, minus the Kabras. But she would do what she had to.

A sudden scream distracted Irina, and she whirled around to see what had happened. It took a lot to make a fully trained Lucian agent scream, after all.

What Irina saw made her jaw drop, momentarily taking away all signs of coherency from her except for the rapid pounding of her heart in her chest.

Fiske.

She could barely see any of his face, but what she did saw looked different from the Fiske she knew. His face was more hallowed and weary, yet was set determinedly. She couldn't make out his eyes, but was sure that they were cold and dark. In his hands was a blunt metal poll that he made to lunge at the Lucian agents with.

"You!" Irina gasped, finally recovering from her temporary loss of voice. Her eyes were trained solely on Fiske, wearing his long black coat; she was oblivious to everything else.

It had been so long since she had seen him; so long since they had fallen in love; so long since she had discovered that she was pregnant with his child. And yet, her feelings remained the same, and she almost felt as if those times were just yesterday. There was just one difference.

This time, she knew that at least half of the feeling boiling up inside of her was anger.

She threw herself at Fiske, knocking him forward, momentarily discombobulating him. Irina took advantage of this and grabbed his arms, forcing them together at his back, narrowly dodging the swinging pole. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Amy and Dan running out of the Amber Room, but there was nothing she could do; rather, there was, but she was a tad preoccupied at the moment.

"They've escaped!" exclaimed one of the Lucian agents, the one who wasn't lying motionless on the ground.

"I see them!" Fiske shouted, gesturing in the opposite direction. The Lucian agent turned his head to follow Fiske's gaze, and Fiske wrenched his arm that held the pole out of Irina's grip and swung it at the Lucian agent's head. The man crumbled to the ground instantly. Irina, knowing what Fiske was going to do next, tightened her grip around the wrist that he hadn't freed, having no intention of letting go of him.

Unfortunately, she had forgotten Fiske's basket of tricks. He kicked one leg backwards and swung it around, tripping Irina; in the brief second when she had to regain her balance, he twisted his wrist away from her and jumped a good few paces away, the pole held in front of him.

"I don't like hurting people who haven't hurt me," he called out to her, his voice a warning.

That was when Irina figured it out.

He didn't recognize her.

Instantly, she went out of her fighting stance (legs an arm's length apart, fists in front of her) and just stood there, gazing at him. She could tell that this startled him, and he lowered the poll because of it, perhaps seeing Irina's lack of fight as a rare offer of peace.

"Do you not remember me?" Irina asked softly, taking care not to let too much of her Russian accent get through. Call her sadistic, but she wanted to have fun with this.

Fiske frowned, clearly thinking hard. The woman's head was immersed in shadows, so he couldn't see her face. He could just barely make out her voice, which sounded familiar- very familiar- and he knew that if he heard more of it, he would be able to tell who the person was.

"You seem familiar," he answered, raising up his metal pole again, though he wasn't sure he'd really need it at this point. "I know you; that I'm sure of. I just don't know where from."

Irina laughed. Somehow, that was so typical of Fiske… the Fiske she knew, anyways. She hadn't seen him in so long; she didn't know if he had changed any or not, and if so, how much.

"Think hard," she said, raising her voice just the slightest bit. "I am sure that it will come to you."

Fiske didn't answer. He was obviously still racking his brain. Irina took pity on him.

"Would you like a hint?" She asked, her voice thick with amusement. Obviously, she was enjoying herself.

"Yes, please," Fiske admitted reluctantly. He was, to be honest, caught a bit off guard at the moment. It was rare enough for him to not fight someone from an enemy branch; but actually talking with them? Having a pleasant conversation, almost a game, even? It was just unheard of.

"Twenty-one," Irina said simply.

Fiske searched through his head. Twenty-one… what was the significance of that number? When in his life had the number twenty-one come up? That was the age when he had "gone missing"; the age when he was legally allowed to drink alcohol; the amount of money he "borrowed", divided by a hundred thousand, from an Ekaterina bank on his first real mission; the number of years older he was than Irina-

Irina.

The woman before him had blonde hair. She had an accent that certainly wasn't American. She knew Fiske, which was more than most Lucians could say. She wasn't attacking him.

Oh my God, he thought, letting the pole drop to his feet in shock. He gaped at Irina as the Lucian stepped out of the shadows, facing him with a smirk, her arms crossed triumphantly over her chest. Her face was a bit more worn, her body possibly even fitter than before, her skin just a tad more wrinkled; but besides that, she was the same, and just as beautiful as she was twenty-one years ago.

"I-Irina?" He spluttered.

"It took you long enough," Irina replied. She slowly walked closer to Fiske, her footsteps echoing in the silence. Their eyes never turned from each other; neither of their faces revealed a thing.

Finally, she stopped, barely an inch away from Fiske. She could feel his hot breath on her face, sending tingles up her spine. Reaching up her hand, she lightly brushed his chin with soft fingertips.

"You do not have stubble anymore," she noted, her tone mild.

"I've had time to shave," Fiske told her matter-of-factly, his mind whirling from the scent of her so close to him. "I didn't exactly have that in prison."

"No, I suppose you did not," Irina chuckled. "However, I prefer you with the stubble."

"Why?"

"I do not know," Irina shrugged. "I just do."

Fiske didn't have a response to that. And so, he tilted his head down and pressed his lips against hers for the first time in so long.

Even though Irina's insides were screaming for her to kiss back, she pulled away from him, glaring. "Do you think," she hissed, "that after not contacting me for over two decades that I would forgive you so easily?"

Her Lucian instincts kicked in, and she jumped into the air, landed on the pole, and pushed it behind her with her foot, giving her an extra push as she kicked Fiske in the gut, blowing the wind out of him and pushing him backwards. She landed with a handstand, and flipped back onto her feet just in time to see Fiske running towards her. With ease, she rolled to the side, letting him fly into the wall. He fell to the ground, but forced himself to stand up.

"I don't want to fight you, Irina!" he called out. "You know that I don't!"

"Ha!" Irina barked out a laugh. The two Cahills were now circling each other. "Times have changed, Fiske. We are parts of different branches. We have changed."

"Well, I know that you have," Fiske stated, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The Irina that I knew would never try to kill children; even if they were her opponents."

Irina growled under her breath. "I had no choice!" she shot back harshly. "If I had not, then I would have been banished from the Lucian branch! If not executed first! I do not wish to kill Amy and Dan," she went on, "but I value my own life, and doing what is right is not easy."

"So you aren't even going to try to do the right thing?" Fiske yelled back. "Not even one attempt? Even if that's what you really want? Wow. You really have changed, Irina, because twenty-one years ago, you never would've given up. On anything. Not if you wanted it badly enough. Or maybe, you just don't want it." Fiske paused. "Maybe you don't want to do the right thing. Maybe you really have turned into a Lucian."

"Stop that!" Irina exclaimed. "Do not make me feel guilty! I am many things, Fiske, but I am not evil, and you, who once claimed to love me, should know that!"

"It wasn't a claim," Fiske shouted, "and it still isn't! But I guess that doesn't matter now!"

"How can you say that?" Irina hissed. "Of course it matters! Love always matters! A lot has changed in twenty-one years, Fiske- changed in my life, changed about me. But I still love you."

"How do I know you're even telling the truth about that?" Fiske retaliated. "Lucians are born liars, after all!"

"You dare question me, and insult me, after I've gone through so much for you?" Irina screamed, her anger and frustration consuming her. "After all you put me through, you dare offend me this way?"

"What did I put you through?" Fiske retorted at the top of his lungs. "You were willing, and you liked it! How can you accuse me of doing you any wrong?"

"Do not talk like you know everything about me!" Irina commanded furiously. "You may have at one time, but you do not anymore!"

With that, she rushed at Fiske, having no semblance of a plan in mind, her anger fueling her. She was caught off guard when Fiske jumped into the air, his legs horizontal, and he kicked her chest, pushing her backwards.

The Kangaroo, Irina thought, briefly remembering the move Fiske had taught her. She opened her eyes to see Fiske standing above her, his face saying that if he had anything to say about it, she wasn't getting up any time soon.

"What are you talking about?" he hissed. "What don't I know about you? What did I do to you?"

"It does not matter," Irina snapped, "not anymore. Nothing can be done to change what happened… any of it."

"What do you mean?" Fiske inquired, curious, yet making sure to still keep his tone firm.

Irina slowly sat up, ignoring that Fiske put out his hands defensively. "Twenty-one years ago, I failed at my first ever mission, and was thrown into a Janus dungeon," she said.

"Twenty-one years ago, we met, and, eventually, fell in love," the Lucian went on, pushing herself to her feet. She put her hands around Fiske's fists in one fluid motion and pushed them downwards to his sides, where he wouldn't be able to do anything harmful with them.

Irina privately doubted that he would do anything to her anyways, though. At this point, his attention was completely focused on her words. She took this opportunity to hop to her feet, flip him to the ground, and stand over him, their former positions reversed. She leaned down and hissed in his ear,

"Twenty-one years since I gave birth to our son."

Fiske gaped at her. He blinked once. Twice. Three times. Then he rasped out, "Our son?"

"Yes." Irina's eyes were as cold as steel. "I named him Nikolai."

"I-I'm a father?" Fiske stammered.

"Have we not already covered this? Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Fiske asked quietly. "You could have contacted me. I could have helped you; paid for child care."

"I did try to contact you," Irina said. "I tracked down the Madrigal headquarters in Easter Island- no, nobody knows- and sent messages to you there every day for the first three months of my pregnancy. You never responded."

"Irina, do you honestly think that messages from a Lucian would make it through the highly complex Madrigal computer network?" Fiske raised an eyebrow. "I never got any of your messages. If I had, I would have responded to you, if not come straight away. I promise."

"Your promise means nothing now," Irina glared. "I raised Nikolai by myself."

Fiske was silent for a moment. Then, "When can I meet him?" he asked, sounding almost breathless with what could only be barely contained joy and excitement. "What does he looks like? Does he have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend, even? Is he going to college? Which one? What are his favorite activities? Is he a Boston Red Sox fan? Where does he live now? Does he work for your bran-"

"Stop," Irina said, blinking away tears. It had been so long since she had been forced to think about her beloved son, let alone talk about him with his father, of all people. She stood up and walked away from Fiske, not facing him, blinking away tears. "Please, stop."

"Irina?" Fiske's voice was suddenly concerned, and filled with worry. Irina heard him stand up and tentatively take a few steps closer to her. "Irina, what's wrong?"

"You cannot meet him," Irina choked out.

"Why not? I'm his father, I have every right to meet him-"

Irina whirled around to face him, her damp eyes narrowed angrily, and cut him off. "You cannot meet him because he is dead!" She spat, her eyes filling with fresh tears just from saying it out loud. A hand flew to her mouth as she struggled to swallow a sob.

"Oh…" Fiske felt sorrow consume him; sorrow that he could never meet his son, sorrow because Irina had tears rolling stubbornly down her cheeks. "Oh, Irina…" Without a moment's hesitation, he walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her head in his shoulder, still refusing to bawl like he knew she wanted to, because she was Irina Spasky- no, Irina Spaskaya, and she showed no weakness. "I'm so sorry. For everything."

"There was nothing you or anyone else could have done," Irina spoke quietly. "He was very… very sick. The doctors… they could not save him." Yet another tear trickled down her face. "I only wish that I- that I had been by his side when it happened."

"It's okay," Fiske soothed her, patting down her hair. "I'm sure you had your reason."

"It's wasn't a good one."

"That doesn't matter," Fiske said. "What matters is that, besides that one instance, you were the best mother in the world to him."

Irina looked up at him. "How do you know that?"

"Because I know you."

Then, Irina kissed him. It was a slow, sweet kiss, but it sent hot fire coursing through both of their veins. They finally broke apart when they ran out of air.

"You should go now," Irina said quietly. Fiske made to protest, but she held up a hand to stop him. "We have been down here for a long time now. We do not want anyone to become suspicious. That would be bad for both of us."

"You're right," Fiske nodded sadly, "as usual." He gave Irina one last squeeze and stepped back. "Irina, I have one last favor to ask of you."

"What?"

"Don't hurt Amy and Dan. Please. They-"

"-Are your great-niece and great-nephew," Irina finished with a small smile. "I am aware. I always have been. Dan resembles you."

"Do you really think so?" Fiske asked, his eyes bright and hopeful.

Irina nodded. "Yes." She paused. "But not as much as Nikolai. He looked just like you, but with my hair."

"I bet he was handsome," Fiske half-grinned.

"Very much so." Irina blinked away tears again. "He was my beautiful baby boy."

Fiske stepped up to her again and wrapped her in another hug. "Our beautiful baby boy," he corrected, his face in her hair. Then he kissed her forehead and stepped back. "In case I never see you again, Irina… I love you."

With that, he turned back and ran out of the Amber Room.

"I love you too, Fiske," Irina whispered, staring at the doorway. A lone tear trailed down her face, and she quickly wiped it away.

Then, she pulled out her cell phone.

XxxxX

Fiske Cahill slowly made his way to the field. His black coat was wrapped around him, and in the dead of night, he was camouflaged so well that he couldn't be seen, let alone recognized. He knelt down when he finally found what he was looking for: a few words, etched sloppily into a rock:

Irina Spasky

1962-2008

Fiske glared at the stone. This was how the Lucians buried their agents? It was truly disgraceful. Then again, considering the way Irina had died, she had probably been disowned as a Lucian, because dying to save the lives of two children was simply scandalous.

A lone tear slid down Fiske's cheek. Yes, he was glad that Amy and Dan were alive. But why did Irina have to die for that to happen?

Had she really taken his request for a favor that seriously?

No, the little voice inside his head told him. Yes, he was sure that she had done that favor for him; otherwise, Amy and Dan would have never made it out of the Lucian Black Circle. Sacrificing herself for their sake, however, was an entirely different matter. Irina Spasky would have never done it.

But Irina Spaskaya would have.

Fiske picked up the stone- it was easy, it hadn't even been put into the ground- and flipped it over. He chose a particularly sharp-looking rock and painstakingly wrote into the blank side of the large stone,

Irina Nikolaievna Spaskaya

1962-2008

Adoring mother and true friend.

Never judge a book by its cover.

He put the stone back in his place, wedging it firmly into the ground, and stood up. Sparing one last glance at the grave, he turned his back and walked away.

As he left, his teardrops soaked into the ground.

This chapter is dedicated to music4evah. Thanks for all your help!

I seriously wanted to cry the whole time I was writing that last part.

I hope that you liked this epilogue, as well as this whole story. It's the shortest of all my multi-chapter stories so far, but personally, I think it's the best. I loved writing it, and as I look over it now, I love reading it, too. Thank you to all of you for sticking with me and my story, and for all of your support.

Sincerely,

Joelle8