***
I look for salvation
But I can't see out my window
***
Snow covered everything. Even the window seals were full of snow and ice. Jack knew there were some Christmas lights out there, but he couldn't see them for the white wonderland. The door behind him opened, and he shivered as the frigid air danced across his skin. Taking a deep breath, he turned and faced his father.
Colonel Bristow didn't look so serious covered in snow. Jack doubted anybody would, but his father still had the same proud bearing, the same precise movements as he removed his parka and hung it in the closet.
He walked into the room, and Jack stood there waiting for some acknowledgement. "Jack," his father said. He sounded like a man seeing someone he knew from high school. Not a friend from the past, an acquaintance.
"Father," Jack said, feeling the sweat covering his palms. He didn't close his fists though. He made sure he stood straight and didn't fidget. He wanted his father to see the changes in him.
It had been six months since he'd left home. He was different on the inside. More confident. He wasn't sure his father could see that, but he should see the physical changes. In another three months, Jack would be a man. Eighteen years old. And six months of physical training had changed his frame. It was more muscular, leaner; muscles ripped where skin and bones had been before.
Colonel Bristow picked up the newspaper from the kitchen counter. The housekeeper--whoever she was now--knew exactly how to place it, just the way the Colonel liked it. In that moment, Jack experienced déjà vu; it was as if he'd never left.
"How was your flight?" his father asked as he sat down in his chair.
Jack ignored the pain that sliced through him. "It was good."
***
I think I'll hide and disappear
***
"Would you tell the Colonel that I won't be able to make it home, Mrs. Thacker?"
He hadn't been home since last Christmas, but life had been busy. Between school and training, he'd been unable to even find a long weekend to make the trip out west. And while there was nothing pressing at the moment, he knew the Colonel would understand his reluctance to interrupt his education for a break back home.
Ignoring the voice that was pointing out he could've at least called his father's office and told him personally, he waited for the housekeeper to reply. She hesitated a moment before asking, "You're not going to make it home for Christmas?"
He'd met Mrs. Thacker during his last visit. She was different from most of the other housekeepers the Colonel had employed over the years. She was a happy person; she actually smiled. She had a family she loved and who loved her. He bet she couldn't think of anything more horrible than someone not making it home for Christmas. Thinking about what they'd been talking about just an hour ago in training, he realized he wanted her to keep believing that was the worst thing on earth.
"No," Jack answered, bothered more by the hint of censor in her voice than he wanted to admit. He already had an excuse ready to go--My father's a busy man and shouldn't be disturbed for such an unimportant matter--if she asked why he'd called the Colonel's house instead of his office.
"I'll try to make it home next month," he said, wondering if he was lying. He'd told himself that he would go, but would he really? With the question weighing heavy on his mind, he said, "I've got to go, Mrs. Thacker. Bye!" He hung up without waiting for her response.
He stared down at the phone for several minutes, as if waiting for it to give him a reply or an answer. Shaking his head, Jack walked back into his room. He had a test tomorrow that he needed to study for. Failure, after all, wasn't an option.
***
And I had a teacher
And he led me through the jungle
***
The first thing Jack noticed was the smell; the location of the vile stench was obvious. The steady stream of smoke up on the hill was filling the air with the scent. Jack felt the bile rise in his throat but he managed not to embarrass himself. The two men escorting him to camp looked disappointed.
Following them off the helicopter, he made sure to stay down as the blades whirled overhead. The men in front of him moved less cautiously and easily outpaced him. He watched as they stopped in front of a man--wearing the same type of jumpsuit as Jack--and pointed towards him. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but the look on the man's face was easy to recognize.
Disgust. He barely managed to hide it, and Jack was sure that he wasn't really trying. He stopped walking and waited for the man--obviously the head of the CIA team--to walk towards him. The men who had escorted him from Saigon continued on towards the bunks.
The CIA team leader stopped in front of him, and it was then that Jack realized how short the man was. The man's personality made him seem much taller than he was. Jack could see the passion in the man's eyes, the barely contained power. The lack of rank insignia didn't hamper this man's air of authority. Jack could learn a lot from him, if the man allowed him to stay around.
"Jack Bristow, Sir," he introduced himself.
"I know who you are, Mr. Bristow. What I don't know is why they keep sending me greener and greener recruits."
His boss started walking, obviously expecting Jack to follow. He did, amazed at how fast the man could move. "We're not the military, Mr. Bristow, but you need to familiarize yourself with their rules."
"I was raised in the army, Sir. My father's a colonel," he explained.
"Then you are already months ahead of the agent you're replacing." They stopped in front of a tent. "This is where you'll be staying. At least for the next several days."
"Next several days? Sir, the window of opportunity is closing."
The man stopped walking and turned back to look at Jack. "Window of opportunity? What exactly do you know about this mission, Mr. Bristow?"
"Everything," Jack replied truthfully.
"Everything? Why were you debriefed before you arrived?" The man's eyes were focused on Jack again, studying him.
"They didn't debrief me, Sir. They didn't need to; I'm the one who wrote the mission specs."
His new boss thought for a moment. "Then why are you here instead of at a desk back in DC?"
"Because I asked to be sent. I thought the information given me was incomplete and that I needed to be here in order to give the team my best," Jack replied.
Respect replaced derision. "You asked to be sent to hell?"
"I needed to be here."
"You're an analyst?"
Jack nodded even as he answered, "I am what the CIA and our country needs me to be."
The man smiled at him. "You have been field trained?"
"Of course, Sir. If I wasn't, I'd be a burden to this team."
All signs of annoyance disappeared from the man's body language. He held out his hand and Jack shook it. "I'm Arvin Sloane. Let me be the first to welcome you to hell, Jack."
"Thank you, Sir."
Sloane laughed. "You definitely are an army brat."
Jack smiled. "Yes." He barely managed to stop himself from adding the "sir."
Sloane grew serious. "This assignment is not a walk in the park, Jack. It's dangerous and probably nothing like anything you've ever done before."
"I know, but I'm ready to do my job, whatever that takes."
"Then I guess I need to teach you what you'll need to know here. You've got ten minutes to get rid of your gear. Meet me in that tent when you've finished."
Jack nodded. "I won't let the team down, Sir," he called to the retreating back of Arvin Sloane.
Sloane looked at him with that intense stare of his. "I know you won't, Jack. I won't let you."
***
But where was he when I crumbled
Into pieces of clay
***
Jack felt the brandy burn all the way down. It took some of the chill away from him. His stomach protested, but he ignored it. He didn't often indulge, but today would be a good day to get drunk. He could drink himself into oblivion. He'd already bought a bottle at the liquor store across the street. It was waiting for him in the car, but he'd seen this little dive and decided that he'd really didn't want to get started all alone.
"Hello," a warm voice said next to him as he almost finished his first glass.
He turned and saw a vision of beauty sitting next to him, looking so out of place in this dump. She smiled, and he felt his groin tighten. Nice to know he was still alive and functioning, even when he was moving around in shock.
And his brain was still able to determine that this was not the usual type of woman that he attracted. The women who were interested in him were shy, brainy types whose social skills lacked something. Like him. The guys usually teased him about his reaction around the gentler sex. "Give the guy a bomb with ten seconds until detonation, and he's got ice water in his veins. Leave him alone with a fox for ten seconds, and he's sweating buckets."
He was too numb to be sweating buckets right now.
"You look like you've lost your best friend," those lush lips said.
Trying to make himself smile, Jack answered, "Just unable to get in touch with him."
Phone call after phone call had failed to produce the desired result. Arvin Sloane was underground, and he didn't want to be found. Jack wished Arvin could have showed a little better sense of timing, although how anyone could've planned for today was beyond Jack's comprehension. He never expected....
"Mmmm," she sighed as she leaned forward on the bar. His groin jumped, but Jack tried to ignore it. He didn't need any more complications in his life, and he knew there was no sense in getting his hopes up that she would be interested for long. Experience had proven that women like her didn't find him interesting.
Besides, tonight was not the right time to even try to develop a relationship. He was too tense, too numb, too everything.
The bartender was walking towards them, so she said, "Why don't you buy me a drink? I can be your best friend tonight."
Jack wished she would just leave him alone. However, he couldn't refuse her. "I'll have another brandy, and give the lady whatever she wants."
"Brandy sounds wonderful," she said. Her voice played up his spine. It was a pleasing voice. Not grating. Soothing.
When the bartender turned away to fix their order, she returned her attention to him. Her eyes were incredible, too. A wonderful chocolate color. Usually he would be grateful that someone like her was even talking to him, but not tonight.
He opened his mouth to say something to her--he wasn't really sure what-- when she spoke instead. "Well, my new best friend, what are we going to do tonight?"
The amusement in her voice made him smile. Then remembering the phone call, he lost that smile. "I'm planning on getting really drunk," he told her a little harsher than he'd intended. He watched her smile fade, and he wanted to kick himself. "I don't expect you--"
The bartender set down their drinks. He reached to pick up Jack's empty glass as the dark-haired beauty next to him reached for hers. Her empty glass was on the bar before the bartender could leave. "Two more," she said. "And make them doubles this time."
Jack looked at her, unable to hide his surprise. "I'm not good company tonight."
"I can tell," she answered. "However, it goes against my beliefs for anyone to be drinking all alone after a bad day. Misery is best shared among friends."
"It wasn't a bad day. It was a good day," Jack mumbled as he returned his attention to the glass in front of him. He took a sip. "I received a promotion for the project I developed last year. My employer finally green- lighted it."
It had felt good, reading the commendation from Langley. Praise always made him feel wonderful. But he didn't feel proud right now. He felt numb inside.
"You had a great day, and you still wanted to get drunk with your best friend?" He felt her eyes study him, take in the slumped shoulders and grim face. "And it doesn't look like celebratory drinking was on your mind."
Jack stared down at his watch. Had it only been less than two hours ago that he'd received that phone call? He'd thought it was a practical joke at first, unable to comprehend what the caller was trying to tell him, but he'd finally had to accept the truth.
"My father's dead."
She couldn't hide her surprise, although she tried. She was silent for a long time, probably wondering how to gracefully leave him alone. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Jack said before taking a gulp of brandy. "I hardly knew the man. I couldn't tell you the last time we spoke on the phone, let alone the last time I saw him."
Laying her hand on top of his, she said, "I am sorry. You've lost dreams along with losing your father."
Jack stared at her, surprised by her insight. Colonel Thomas Bristow would never tell Jack that he was proud of him now. No chance of fatherly pride finally making an appearance. No chance of hearing the words "I love you" from him either. Thomas Bristow died today, and several of Jack's dreams died with him.
They both were silent as they finished their drinks. He expected her to finish hers quickly and leave him alone in his grief, but she remained by him, matching him almost swig for swig. As he finished the double that she'd ordered, she rested on her elbows and said, "My apartment's close. Why don't we get a bottle of something and go to my place to get drunk in comfort?"
Jack was unsure what to say. He started to refuse but found himself saying, "Okay. I already have a bottle of Absolute in my car." He really didn't want to be alone right now, even if he was bad company. She didn't seem to mind.
He waved for the bartender who provided their bill. Jack stood up and reached for his wallet. Throwing a couple of bills down on the bar, he thought about Arvin. Wondered where he was, what he was doing, wondered how shocked he would be at Jack going home with a beautiful woman with the intent of just getting drunk.
"I don't even know you name," he realized as the night air hit him. "You don't know mine." He looked down at her. "I'm Jack Bristow."
She took her hand off of his arm and turned to face him. She held out her hand. "Hello, Jack, I'm Laura Richards."
Her grip was confident, sure. Jack admired her self-assurance even as he enjoyed the feel of her skin on his. "Thank you, Laura, for being here."
She glanced away and then back at him. "No need to thank me, Jack. That's what best friends are for."
***
End 2/5
I look for salvation
But I can't see out my window
***
Snow covered everything. Even the window seals were full of snow and ice. Jack knew there were some Christmas lights out there, but he couldn't see them for the white wonderland. The door behind him opened, and he shivered as the frigid air danced across his skin. Taking a deep breath, he turned and faced his father.
Colonel Bristow didn't look so serious covered in snow. Jack doubted anybody would, but his father still had the same proud bearing, the same precise movements as he removed his parka and hung it in the closet.
He walked into the room, and Jack stood there waiting for some acknowledgement. "Jack," his father said. He sounded like a man seeing someone he knew from high school. Not a friend from the past, an acquaintance.
"Father," Jack said, feeling the sweat covering his palms. He didn't close his fists though. He made sure he stood straight and didn't fidget. He wanted his father to see the changes in him.
It had been six months since he'd left home. He was different on the inside. More confident. He wasn't sure his father could see that, but he should see the physical changes. In another three months, Jack would be a man. Eighteen years old. And six months of physical training had changed his frame. It was more muscular, leaner; muscles ripped where skin and bones had been before.
Colonel Bristow picked up the newspaper from the kitchen counter. The housekeeper--whoever she was now--knew exactly how to place it, just the way the Colonel liked it. In that moment, Jack experienced déjà vu; it was as if he'd never left.
"How was your flight?" his father asked as he sat down in his chair.
Jack ignored the pain that sliced through him. "It was good."
***
I think I'll hide and disappear
***
"Would you tell the Colonel that I won't be able to make it home, Mrs. Thacker?"
He hadn't been home since last Christmas, but life had been busy. Between school and training, he'd been unable to even find a long weekend to make the trip out west. And while there was nothing pressing at the moment, he knew the Colonel would understand his reluctance to interrupt his education for a break back home.
Ignoring the voice that was pointing out he could've at least called his father's office and told him personally, he waited for the housekeeper to reply. She hesitated a moment before asking, "You're not going to make it home for Christmas?"
He'd met Mrs. Thacker during his last visit. She was different from most of the other housekeepers the Colonel had employed over the years. She was a happy person; she actually smiled. She had a family she loved and who loved her. He bet she couldn't think of anything more horrible than someone not making it home for Christmas. Thinking about what they'd been talking about just an hour ago in training, he realized he wanted her to keep believing that was the worst thing on earth.
"No," Jack answered, bothered more by the hint of censor in her voice than he wanted to admit. He already had an excuse ready to go--My father's a busy man and shouldn't be disturbed for such an unimportant matter--if she asked why he'd called the Colonel's house instead of his office.
"I'll try to make it home next month," he said, wondering if he was lying. He'd told himself that he would go, but would he really? With the question weighing heavy on his mind, he said, "I've got to go, Mrs. Thacker. Bye!" He hung up without waiting for her response.
He stared down at the phone for several minutes, as if waiting for it to give him a reply or an answer. Shaking his head, Jack walked back into his room. He had a test tomorrow that he needed to study for. Failure, after all, wasn't an option.
***
And I had a teacher
And he led me through the jungle
***
The first thing Jack noticed was the smell; the location of the vile stench was obvious. The steady stream of smoke up on the hill was filling the air with the scent. Jack felt the bile rise in his throat but he managed not to embarrass himself. The two men escorting him to camp looked disappointed.
Following them off the helicopter, he made sure to stay down as the blades whirled overhead. The men in front of him moved less cautiously and easily outpaced him. He watched as they stopped in front of a man--wearing the same type of jumpsuit as Jack--and pointed towards him. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but the look on the man's face was easy to recognize.
Disgust. He barely managed to hide it, and Jack was sure that he wasn't really trying. He stopped walking and waited for the man--obviously the head of the CIA team--to walk towards him. The men who had escorted him from Saigon continued on towards the bunks.
The CIA team leader stopped in front of him, and it was then that Jack realized how short the man was. The man's personality made him seem much taller than he was. Jack could see the passion in the man's eyes, the barely contained power. The lack of rank insignia didn't hamper this man's air of authority. Jack could learn a lot from him, if the man allowed him to stay around.
"Jack Bristow, Sir," he introduced himself.
"I know who you are, Mr. Bristow. What I don't know is why they keep sending me greener and greener recruits."
His boss started walking, obviously expecting Jack to follow. He did, amazed at how fast the man could move. "We're not the military, Mr. Bristow, but you need to familiarize yourself with their rules."
"I was raised in the army, Sir. My father's a colonel," he explained.
"Then you are already months ahead of the agent you're replacing." They stopped in front of a tent. "This is where you'll be staying. At least for the next several days."
"Next several days? Sir, the window of opportunity is closing."
The man stopped walking and turned back to look at Jack. "Window of opportunity? What exactly do you know about this mission, Mr. Bristow?"
"Everything," Jack replied truthfully.
"Everything? Why were you debriefed before you arrived?" The man's eyes were focused on Jack again, studying him.
"They didn't debrief me, Sir. They didn't need to; I'm the one who wrote the mission specs."
His new boss thought for a moment. "Then why are you here instead of at a desk back in DC?"
"Because I asked to be sent. I thought the information given me was incomplete and that I needed to be here in order to give the team my best," Jack replied.
Respect replaced derision. "You asked to be sent to hell?"
"I needed to be here."
"You're an analyst?"
Jack nodded even as he answered, "I am what the CIA and our country needs me to be."
The man smiled at him. "You have been field trained?"
"Of course, Sir. If I wasn't, I'd be a burden to this team."
All signs of annoyance disappeared from the man's body language. He held out his hand and Jack shook it. "I'm Arvin Sloane. Let me be the first to welcome you to hell, Jack."
"Thank you, Sir."
Sloane laughed. "You definitely are an army brat."
Jack smiled. "Yes." He barely managed to stop himself from adding the "sir."
Sloane grew serious. "This assignment is not a walk in the park, Jack. It's dangerous and probably nothing like anything you've ever done before."
"I know, but I'm ready to do my job, whatever that takes."
"Then I guess I need to teach you what you'll need to know here. You've got ten minutes to get rid of your gear. Meet me in that tent when you've finished."
Jack nodded. "I won't let the team down, Sir," he called to the retreating back of Arvin Sloane.
Sloane looked at him with that intense stare of his. "I know you won't, Jack. I won't let you."
***
But where was he when I crumbled
Into pieces of clay
***
Jack felt the brandy burn all the way down. It took some of the chill away from him. His stomach protested, but he ignored it. He didn't often indulge, but today would be a good day to get drunk. He could drink himself into oblivion. He'd already bought a bottle at the liquor store across the street. It was waiting for him in the car, but he'd seen this little dive and decided that he'd really didn't want to get started all alone.
"Hello," a warm voice said next to him as he almost finished his first glass.
He turned and saw a vision of beauty sitting next to him, looking so out of place in this dump. She smiled, and he felt his groin tighten. Nice to know he was still alive and functioning, even when he was moving around in shock.
And his brain was still able to determine that this was not the usual type of woman that he attracted. The women who were interested in him were shy, brainy types whose social skills lacked something. Like him. The guys usually teased him about his reaction around the gentler sex. "Give the guy a bomb with ten seconds until detonation, and he's got ice water in his veins. Leave him alone with a fox for ten seconds, and he's sweating buckets."
He was too numb to be sweating buckets right now.
"You look like you've lost your best friend," those lush lips said.
Trying to make himself smile, Jack answered, "Just unable to get in touch with him."
Phone call after phone call had failed to produce the desired result. Arvin Sloane was underground, and he didn't want to be found. Jack wished Arvin could have showed a little better sense of timing, although how anyone could've planned for today was beyond Jack's comprehension. He never expected....
"Mmmm," she sighed as she leaned forward on the bar. His groin jumped, but Jack tried to ignore it. He didn't need any more complications in his life, and he knew there was no sense in getting his hopes up that she would be interested for long. Experience had proven that women like her didn't find him interesting.
Besides, tonight was not the right time to even try to develop a relationship. He was too tense, too numb, too everything.
The bartender was walking towards them, so she said, "Why don't you buy me a drink? I can be your best friend tonight."
Jack wished she would just leave him alone. However, he couldn't refuse her. "I'll have another brandy, and give the lady whatever she wants."
"Brandy sounds wonderful," she said. Her voice played up his spine. It was a pleasing voice. Not grating. Soothing.
When the bartender turned away to fix their order, she returned her attention to him. Her eyes were incredible, too. A wonderful chocolate color. Usually he would be grateful that someone like her was even talking to him, but not tonight.
He opened his mouth to say something to her--he wasn't really sure what-- when she spoke instead. "Well, my new best friend, what are we going to do tonight?"
The amusement in her voice made him smile. Then remembering the phone call, he lost that smile. "I'm planning on getting really drunk," he told her a little harsher than he'd intended. He watched her smile fade, and he wanted to kick himself. "I don't expect you--"
The bartender set down their drinks. He reached to pick up Jack's empty glass as the dark-haired beauty next to him reached for hers. Her empty glass was on the bar before the bartender could leave. "Two more," she said. "And make them doubles this time."
Jack looked at her, unable to hide his surprise. "I'm not good company tonight."
"I can tell," she answered. "However, it goes against my beliefs for anyone to be drinking all alone after a bad day. Misery is best shared among friends."
"It wasn't a bad day. It was a good day," Jack mumbled as he returned his attention to the glass in front of him. He took a sip. "I received a promotion for the project I developed last year. My employer finally green- lighted it."
It had felt good, reading the commendation from Langley. Praise always made him feel wonderful. But he didn't feel proud right now. He felt numb inside.
"You had a great day, and you still wanted to get drunk with your best friend?" He felt her eyes study him, take in the slumped shoulders and grim face. "And it doesn't look like celebratory drinking was on your mind."
Jack stared down at his watch. Had it only been less than two hours ago that he'd received that phone call? He'd thought it was a practical joke at first, unable to comprehend what the caller was trying to tell him, but he'd finally had to accept the truth.
"My father's dead."
She couldn't hide her surprise, although she tried. She was silent for a long time, probably wondering how to gracefully leave him alone. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Jack said before taking a gulp of brandy. "I hardly knew the man. I couldn't tell you the last time we spoke on the phone, let alone the last time I saw him."
Laying her hand on top of his, she said, "I am sorry. You've lost dreams along with losing your father."
Jack stared at her, surprised by her insight. Colonel Thomas Bristow would never tell Jack that he was proud of him now. No chance of fatherly pride finally making an appearance. No chance of hearing the words "I love you" from him either. Thomas Bristow died today, and several of Jack's dreams died with him.
They both were silent as they finished their drinks. He expected her to finish hers quickly and leave him alone in his grief, but she remained by him, matching him almost swig for swig. As he finished the double that she'd ordered, she rested on her elbows and said, "My apartment's close. Why don't we get a bottle of something and go to my place to get drunk in comfort?"
Jack was unsure what to say. He started to refuse but found himself saying, "Okay. I already have a bottle of Absolute in my car." He really didn't want to be alone right now, even if he was bad company. She didn't seem to mind.
He waved for the bartender who provided their bill. Jack stood up and reached for his wallet. Throwing a couple of bills down on the bar, he thought about Arvin. Wondered where he was, what he was doing, wondered how shocked he would be at Jack going home with a beautiful woman with the intent of just getting drunk.
"I don't even know you name," he realized as the night air hit him. "You don't know mine." He looked down at her. "I'm Jack Bristow."
She took her hand off of his arm and turned to face him. She held out her hand. "Hello, Jack, I'm Laura Richards."
Her grip was confident, sure. Jack admired her self-assurance even as he enjoyed the feel of her skin on his. "Thank you, Laura, for being here."
She glanced away and then back at him. "No need to thank me, Jack. That's what best friends are for."
***
End 2/5