The San Matteo pier, up the coast from LA, had been a favorite spot of
theirs 20 years ago. An hour north of LA, the rustic wharf was a base for
working fishing boats. Seagulls wheeled overhead, undeterred by the fresh
ocean breeze. As Jack parked at the pier, he spotted her on the far end,
leaning over the railing and looking out to sea. Leather jacket to ward
off the cool spring air; jeans to blend in with the surroundings. He felt
out of place in his business suit, and left the jacket in the car,
loosening his tie as he walked out to her.
From afar she appeared lost in thought, but she turned in greeting as he approached. He caught his breath as he saw her standing there, hair billowing in the wind. Feeling a stab of longing, he quickened his pace to join her.
Irina scanned Jack carefully, checking his recovery, noting the tiredness around the eyes. "How are you feeling?" she asked sympathetically.
"Fine," he said, a little unnerved by her scrutiny. "Except for my jaw, of course," he teased to divert her. "You pack quite a punch."
Irina reached out and feathered his jaw with a gentle caress. "I'm sorry," she said. "You were magnificent."
Jack held his breath, reveling in her touch. "On second thought, there are some other parts that hurt as well."
Irina laughed quietly, but pulled her hand back. "Some other time, Jack. Not here. Not now."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"I think.we should wait," said Irina. "I don't want you waking up in the morning wondering if I've 'screwed you over'."
"This isn't some kind of payback for those cracks I made, is it?" groaned Jack. "I'm sorry about those."
"No," grinned Irina. "Payback for those comes later. And I promise you you'll recognize it when it happens." She turned more serious. "Jack, we can't just go back to the way we were. We're different people now. We need to learn to trust each other again. That may take a little practice."
"So what does that mean in the meantime? That we're 'going steady'?" growled Jack as he rolled his eyes.
Irina placed her hand over his, which had been resting on the railing. "It wouldn't be such a bad place to start. It's certainly the best offer I've had in 20 years."
They stood there for several minutes together, looking out over the ocean. Each seemed reluctant to break the silence.
Finally Jack cleared his throat. "OK, then. I've got some questions."
"Fire away."
"What are you doing in California?"
"Borrowing a geneticist."
"That's 'borrowing' as in the felony 'borrowing'?"
"Yes. He'll be returned in a couple of days, good as new. We need his help with the genetic mapping."
Jack pondered her reply, and decided it was the FBI's problem.
"Next?"
"If Rambaldi's not alive, how are you going to get a crossmatch between the flower and the genetic database?"
"Some of Rambaldi's descendants would have the same genetic fingerprint. I just need to insert one of their DNA sequences in the database and a match will come up."
"Oh," said Jack, wondering how she had found descendants of Rambaldi.
"Do I get questions?" asked Irina.
"Sure."
"How did you learn about Muzaffarabad?"
"Elsa Caplan was a KGB spy, married to her husband to extract information. She had studied your case file as part of her training."
"Did you debrief her?"
"Yes."
Irina looked at him curiously. "What else did you learn?"
Jack shifted uncomfortably and licked his lips, which had suddenly become dry. "That.you loved me," he said, with a hint of challenge in his voice. His heart sank as Irina turned her face away, refusing to meet his eyes. Slowly he disengaged his hand from hers, only to find her reach out to reclaim it. Irina turned her face back to his, her eyes full of tears.
"That was news to you?" she choked.
Numbly he nodded. "Jack-," she began, her voice cracking, then began weeping in earnest. Tenderly her pulled her into an embrace and buried his face in her hair as she ruined his favorite tie. "God I'm so sorry," he heard in a muffled voice. After several moments she pulled away, wiping her eyes.
"My turn?" asked Jack, feeling unaccountably lighter.
Irina nodded.
"Say something in Russian."
Irina cocked her head. "Koe-chto po-russki (Something in Russian)," she teased. "Why do you want to hear me speak Russian?"
"Because," he said, a little embarrassed, "I always imagined Russian would sound beautiful if you spoke it. All those years I studied and practiced Russian, and I didn't realize you spoke it fluently. How you must have laughed," he said self-consciously.
"No. I fantasized about your speaking Russian to me," she sighed. "You have no idea. Even when your accent was *awful*."
"If you're good, maybe I will."
"I'll hold you to that, Bristow," she smiled. "My turn?"
"Yes."
"Madagascar."
Jack flushed. "Not my best move. I was convinced that you were a threat to Sydney. I had the house booby-trapped, and stopped them just before they went in."
Irina looked at him thoughtfully. "Not very subtle, Jack."
"No," he agreed. "I wasn't thinking very clearly at the time." He left the rest unspoken. Irina gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "My turn, I think." Irina nodded.
"How do you know that Rambaldi is dead?" Jack asked with studied casualness. He watched her out of the corner of his eye.
"Jack! You've been softening me up."
"A little," he smiled guiltily. "But I *did* want to hear you speak Russian. Are you going to tell me?" he prodded.
Irina sighed. "I saw him die when I was quite young."
"Are you sure? How do you know it was Rambaldi?"
Irina hesitated.
Jack turned to her, and saw the uncertainty on her face. "Irina?"
"He was my grandfather, Jack."
From afar she appeared lost in thought, but she turned in greeting as he approached. He caught his breath as he saw her standing there, hair billowing in the wind. Feeling a stab of longing, he quickened his pace to join her.
Irina scanned Jack carefully, checking his recovery, noting the tiredness around the eyes. "How are you feeling?" she asked sympathetically.
"Fine," he said, a little unnerved by her scrutiny. "Except for my jaw, of course," he teased to divert her. "You pack quite a punch."
Irina reached out and feathered his jaw with a gentle caress. "I'm sorry," she said. "You were magnificent."
Jack held his breath, reveling in her touch. "On second thought, there are some other parts that hurt as well."
Irina laughed quietly, but pulled her hand back. "Some other time, Jack. Not here. Not now."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"I think.we should wait," said Irina. "I don't want you waking up in the morning wondering if I've 'screwed you over'."
"This isn't some kind of payback for those cracks I made, is it?" groaned Jack. "I'm sorry about those."
"No," grinned Irina. "Payback for those comes later. And I promise you you'll recognize it when it happens." She turned more serious. "Jack, we can't just go back to the way we were. We're different people now. We need to learn to trust each other again. That may take a little practice."
"So what does that mean in the meantime? That we're 'going steady'?" growled Jack as he rolled his eyes.
Irina placed her hand over his, which had been resting on the railing. "It wouldn't be such a bad place to start. It's certainly the best offer I've had in 20 years."
They stood there for several minutes together, looking out over the ocean. Each seemed reluctant to break the silence.
Finally Jack cleared his throat. "OK, then. I've got some questions."
"Fire away."
"What are you doing in California?"
"Borrowing a geneticist."
"That's 'borrowing' as in the felony 'borrowing'?"
"Yes. He'll be returned in a couple of days, good as new. We need his help with the genetic mapping."
Jack pondered her reply, and decided it was the FBI's problem.
"Next?"
"If Rambaldi's not alive, how are you going to get a crossmatch between the flower and the genetic database?"
"Some of Rambaldi's descendants would have the same genetic fingerprint. I just need to insert one of their DNA sequences in the database and a match will come up."
"Oh," said Jack, wondering how she had found descendants of Rambaldi.
"Do I get questions?" asked Irina.
"Sure."
"How did you learn about Muzaffarabad?"
"Elsa Caplan was a KGB spy, married to her husband to extract information. She had studied your case file as part of her training."
"Did you debrief her?"
"Yes."
Irina looked at him curiously. "What else did you learn?"
Jack shifted uncomfortably and licked his lips, which had suddenly become dry. "That.you loved me," he said, with a hint of challenge in his voice. His heart sank as Irina turned her face away, refusing to meet his eyes. Slowly he disengaged his hand from hers, only to find her reach out to reclaim it. Irina turned her face back to his, her eyes full of tears.
"That was news to you?" she choked.
Numbly he nodded. "Jack-," she began, her voice cracking, then began weeping in earnest. Tenderly her pulled her into an embrace and buried his face in her hair as she ruined his favorite tie. "God I'm so sorry," he heard in a muffled voice. After several moments she pulled away, wiping her eyes.
"My turn?" asked Jack, feeling unaccountably lighter.
Irina nodded.
"Say something in Russian."
Irina cocked her head. "Koe-chto po-russki (Something in Russian)," she teased. "Why do you want to hear me speak Russian?"
"Because," he said, a little embarrassed, "I always imagined Russian would sound beautiful if you spoke it. All those years I studied and practiced Russian, and I didn't realize you spoke it fluently. How you must have laughed," he said self-consciously.
"No. I fantasized about your speaking Russian to me," she sighed. "You have no idea. Even when your accent was *awful*."
"If you're good, maybe I will."
"I'll hold you to that, Bristow," she smiled. "My turn?"
"Yes."
"Madagascar."
Jack flushed. "Not my best move. I was convinced that you were a threat to Sydney. I had the house booby-trapped, and stopped them just before they went in."
Irina looked at him thoughtfully. "Not very subtle, Jack."
"No," he agreed. "I wasn't thinking very clearly at the time." He left the rest unspoken. Irina gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "My turn, I think." Irina nodded.
"How do you know that Rambaldi is dead?" Jack asked with studied casualness. He watched her out of the corner of his eye.
"Jack! You've been softening me up."
"A little," he smiled guiltily. "But I *did* want to hear you speak Russian. Are you going to tell me?" he prodded.
Irina sighed. "I saw him die when I was quite young."
"Are you sure? How do you know it was Rambaldi?"
Irina hesitated.
Jack turned to her, and saw the uncertainty on her face. "Irina?"
"He was my grandfather, Jack."
