Chapter Fifteen: Revelations

Irina took a deep breath as she approached Michael's apartment the next morning, wishing to God that it hadn't come to this. She hadn't wanted to play this particular card just yet. Unfortunately, she didn't see any other choice.

She rang his doorbell, and he greeted her with much of the same enthusiasm he had the day before. "Irina, hello." He was still dressed in the same navy bathrobe he'd worn in his days with Sydney. "I didn't expect you so early."

"I hope I didn't wake you," she said apologetically.

"No, I was just putting on some coffee. Please, come in," he said, stepping aside so she could enter.

"You don't have company, do you?" she asked, feigning an innocent tone.

Michael shook his head as he led her into the kitchen. "Irina, I appreciate that I have your blessing if I want to move on, but really, I'm just not ready."

"I understand, Michael," she said, seating herself in one of his kitchen chairs.

"Can I get you some coffee?" he asked, moving to pour himself a cup.

"No, thank you. Actually, Michael, I came here to tell you something, and you're going to be so incredibly angry at me--" she broke off, shaking her head. "I only ask that you keep an open mind."

"What's this about, Irina?" he asked, brow knitted in concern as he joined her at the kitchen table.

She didn't know any way to say it other than to just come out and say it. God, she wished it hadn't come to this. "Sydney's alive, Michael."

She had expected him to stand, thrash violently about the room, break things. Anything but just look at her with that blank, uncomprehending stare. "No, she's not."

Oh, God. How to deal with this? "Yes, Michael, she--"

"No," Michael said sharply. Now he rose from his chair and began to pace. "I've spent the last eight months getting over her, Irina, she is not--"

"But you haven't gotten over her, have you, Michael?" Irina interjected. "You cringe when another woman so much puts a hand on your shoulder."

"If she's alive, why wouldn't you have told me?" Michael challenged, fire in his green eyes. "Why would you allow for the possibility that I might-- oh, God, Irina. What if I had been sleeping with Brooke?"

"You have to understand, Michael," Irina said, her voice low. "I had to let you believe she was dead. It would be so dangerous for you to return to Organization headquarters, or for her to visit you here-- do you think I believe for a moment that you wouldn't have found a way to contact her, had you known?"

"I wouldn't have done anything to risk her safety, Irina!" Michael exploded.

Irina took a deep breath. "Perhaps not, Michael," she said softly. "But the truth is, it may be years before it's possible for the two of you to see each other. I thought it would be easier for everyone involved, and better for the Organization, for the two of you to mourn each other and move on."

"So she believes I'm dead, too," Michael said. He was pacing now, hands jammed into the pockets of his robe.

"Michael, she--"

Michael interrupted her, and Irina was grateful. She hadn't been precisely sure how she would answer that question. "So, it's still not safe for us to be together," he interjected, his voice cold. "Why did you decide to tell me now?"

Irina sighed. This was it. The part she had to play absolutely perfectly. "Because I thought if thinking that she was dead wasn't enough to make you move on, then maybe knowing what she's done in the last year, in your absence, might be."

"What are you talking about?" She didn't have to be a mind reader to know what was going on in his head at that moment. Confusion, fear...

And she looked him in the eye, and let her own eyes show the perfect combination of regret and dread. "Michael, you're not going to like this."