Jack was slumped on a bench, his back pressed against the sterile white
walls, when Arvin found him. His friend studied his blood-soaked clothes
and blood-stained hands, but he said nothing as he sat down next to him.
He took off his purple sunglasses and put them in the pocket of his white
linen jacket. One of these days, Jack was going to tell him that he was no
Don Johnson, but not today.
He glanced down the overly-lit hallway to where two double doors remained closed. The same damn doors he had been staring at for over two hours waiting for someone, anyone, to come out and tell him that Irina was okay.
"Do you remember the night you and I sat out in a waiting room waiting for information on Irina?"
Arvin's eyebrows knotted in confusion. He looked away before he answered. Jack knew he understood. They were best friends; in spite of all the betrayal, all of the anger, they both knew each other. Faults. Strengths. Everything. "Yes, but I ended up staying out in that waiting room on my own."
Jack closed his eyes, remembering the way his stomach had twisted that night. He remembered the frustration, the decision to ignore the rules because he *had* to get to his wife. "You didn't say a word when I got up off the bench and declared that no nurse was going to keep me from Laura."
Arvin looked over at him and smiled. "I wasn't crazy."
Jack smiled and looked down at his red hands. The blood looked more like rust now instead of anything that had drained from a body. Seeing the color on his skin made him remember the little red creature that had pushed its way out of his wife's body. He blinked away tears. "Irina nearly broke my hand while she pushed. I kept apologizing for my role in her pain. The doctor kept glaring and the nurse made a few pointed comments about how fathers had no place in the birthing room."
They were both silent for a few minutes. A candy stripper walked out of the double doors, a giant grin on her face as she bounced and pushed a cart forward. The smile disappeared and the cart sped up when she saw Jack's frown.
"Remember when Sydney was two, and she fell down the stairs? I don't think I had ever been that afraid before. The doctor was so calm as he stitched up her leg. Then he made her smile when he made a little dog for her out of a balloon. I wanted to strangle him for not realizing how scary it was. Of course he knew exactly what we were feeling. He'd seen a million terrified parents, and knew the best way to calm us down was to keep her calm."
"Jack--"
He heard the concern in Arvin's voice. Appreciated it. Outside of Irina, he had not been able to talk about Sydney. Not as a person. An assignment. A job that needed to be done. An agent who needed to be rescued. But he couldn't talk about his daughter. Never his daughter.
"It was the first time, but wasn't the last time Sydney got stitches. Remember the time she climbed up the tree in your back yard?"
Arvin's voice was soft when he answered. He had loved Sydney, too, in his own way. "Yes. We never did figure out how she managed it."
"She was my daughter and Irina's. If she wanted something, nothing was going to stand in her way, not even gravity."
The double doors opened before Arvin could reply. The surgeon pulled off his cap as he walked towards Jack, who stood up and tried to prepare himself for the worst.
***
"Eat," Arvin said as he set down a tray with a small bowl of soup on it.
Jack shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
"It wasn't a request, Agent Bristow."
"I haven't been Agent Bristow in over a year, Arvin, you know that."
"I do," Arvin said, sitting down in an empty chair across the bed. He looked at the pale woman lying there and sighed. "I also know that at heart, you are a follower, and you're used to taking my orders."
Jack's stomach rolled when he looked down at the food. "I can't eat."
"Having you in the hospital won't help her. When she'll need you, you won't be able to be there for her, Jack."
He didn't even have the strength to argue. "Fuck you."
Arvin chuckled. Jack knew he was remembering a night where they'd both kept themselves sane by trying to remember every curse they knew in every language. "I'm doing it for self preservation."
Jack looked over at his friend and saw that he had lost sleep the last few days, too. His skin was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. "Self preservation?"
Nodding his head towards the woman on the bed, he answered, "She will kill me if she wakes up and finds out I've allowed you to collapse at her bedside."
Jack reached for the soup and set the tray in his lap. Barely showing his distaste, he picked up the spoon and dipped it into the dark broth. When he finally brought it to his mouth, he was surprised by how good it tasted. He took another bite.
Arvin nodded and stood. "I'm having them bring a cot in here for you to sleep on during the night. And I'll have someone come by once a day to keep you informed on our hunt for Sydney."
"Arvin." He heard the footsteps stop behind him. "I'm tired."
A hand lay on his shoulder. "I know."
Jack heard the sound of Arvin turning to leave again. He forced himself to say the words he had been denying for over a year. "She's dead."
A painful silence filled the room. "I know."
"If she wasn't dead--"
"We'd already have heard from her."
His shoulders began to shake. "I didn't--"
Arvin took the tray out of his lap and set aside. He squatted down beside him. "Jack--"
"My daughter's dead, and I may have killed Irina with my desperate desire to deny that truth."
They both looked at the woman lying on the bed surrounded by tubes and bandages. Arvin didn't answer him. He didn't need to.
***
Irina walked to where Jack sat. His arms were across his knees as he stared out into the ocean. Ever since their arrival, he had spent hours there on the beach, just staring. It would've worried her except she watched him slowly heal as the month passed.
While she healed physically, he healed emotionally. The nightmares were making way for sleep-filled nights, and he began eating again. And he talked. About Sydney. Constantly. If he was not looking out at the water in silence, he was talking about their daughter. Some of the memories they shared, but most they didn't.
Irina thought of her years of searching for Rambaldi's device, a machine that was helping her and Sloane take over the world. But it couldn't give her what she wanted the most right now: more time with her daughter.
She sank down into the warm sand beside him. Her white pants would show the stains, but she didn't care. She thought she understood his desire to watch the power of the waves, thought she could feel some of their healing power herself. Watching them slam against the shore, everything felt timeless.
He waited until the sun was blood-red on the water before he spoke. "I take it Sloane called."
Nodding, she held her thin white blouse tighter to her body. The wind was starting to get a chill in it now that the sun was setting. "Yes, he wants to know if I'm ready to get back into the action."
Jack continued to stare out at the ocean. "What did you tell him?"
She pushed her hair behind her ear. "I told him I would discuss it with you."
"Why?" He finally looked at her.
"I don't know," she admitted. Even as she had said the words to Sloane, she had wondered what was going through her own mind. She had never truly felt the need to answer to anyone for her actions. She'd never allowed a man she was sleeping with to decide her course, but she had left Jack once. Left him while knowing she loved him, but believing there was something else out there, something bigger than love, that she needed to explore.
She had done it then, but she didn't think she could do it now. Or maybe the real issue was that she didn't want to do it now. She liked being with Jack, liked bouncing ideas off of him, liked hearing him talk about their daughter, and liked knowing that he would die to protect her because that was the kind of man he was. Maybe it was different now because he really knew her. It was easier to leave when you told yourself it was all a lie.
"What do you want me to say, Irina?"
"I don't know."
He stared at her, and she stared back at him, letting him see her. He nodded and then turned his focus back to the sea. "I never thought to work with Sloane again."
"You don't have to."
"I'm good at what I do, Irina. If I was going to stop working, I would've done it when my wife died and my entire life crumbled around my eyes."
His words were said without heat, without accusation. She put her hand in the sand, picked up a pile, and let it sift through her fingers. "Jack, we never talk about the past."
Some of the sand blew on his shirt. "The past is the past, Irina. I'm not sure--Sydney's--I don't want to go over our past. I want it to stay there."
She thought of the explanations she wanted to give. Explanations she had thought of so many times in the middle of the night, but never uttered. Not to him. Not to Sydney. Looking at the man beside her, a man who had aged a decade over the last two years, she knew they would never be said.
After all, what would be the point? He knew her reasons as well as she did, and that didn't make what she did right for him. He was hurt, and there wasn't anything she could say or do to change that. But if she had done anything else, she wouldn't be the woman she was either.
"What about the future, Jack? Can we discuss that?"
He was silent for a long while, and she could tell he was studying the word as if it was a strange and new idea. "The future?" He waited a moment longer and then she saw the edge of his lips curl. "Yeah, we can talk about the future. Now."
He glanced down the overly-lit hallway to where two double doors remained closed. The same damn doors he had been staring at for over two hours waiting for someone, anyone, to come out and tell him that Irina was okay.
"Do you remember the night you and I sat out in a waiting room waiting for information on Irina?"
Arvin's eyebrows knotted in confusion. He looked away before he answered. Jack knew he understood. They were best friends; in spite of all the betrayal, all of the anger, they both knew each other. Faults. Strengths. Everything. "Yes, but I ended up staying out in that waiting room on my own."
Jack closed his eyes, remembering the way his stomach had twisted that night. He remembered the frustration, the decision to ignore the rules because he *had* to get to his wife. "You didn't say a word when I got up off the bench and declared that no nurse was going to keep me from Laura."
Arvin looked over at him and smiled. "I wasn't crazy."
Jack smiled and looked down at his red hands. The blood looked more like rust now instead of anything that had drained from a body. Seeing the color on his skin made him remember the little red creature that had pushed its way out of his wife's body. He blinked away tears. "Irina nearly broke my hand while she pushed. I kept apologizing for my role in her pain. The doctor kept glaring and the nurse made a few pointed comments about how fathers had no place in the birthing room."
They were both silent for a few minutes. A candy stripper walked out of the double doors, a giant grin on her face as she bounced and pushed a cart forward. The smile disappeared and the cart sped up when she saw Jack's frown.
"Remember when Sydney was two, and she fell down the stairs? I don't think I had ever been that afraid before. The doctor was so calm as he stitched up her leg. Then he made her smile when he made a little dog for her out of a balloon. I wanted to strangle him for not realizing how scary it was. Of course he knew exactly what we were feeling. He'd seen a million terrified parents, and knew the best way to calm us down was to keep her calm."
"Jack--"
He heard the concern in Arvin's voice. Appreciated it. Outside of Irina, he had not been able to talk about Sydney. Not as a person. An assignment. A job that needed to be done. An agent who needed to be rescued. But he couldn't talk about his daughter. Never his daughter.
"It was the first time, but wasn't the last time Sydney got stitches. Remember the time she climbed up the tree in your back yard?"
Arvin's voice was soft when he answered. He had loved Sydney, too, in his own way. "Yes. We never did figure out how she managed it."
"She was my daughter and Irina's. If she wanted something, nothing was going to stand in her way, not even gravity."
The double doors opened before Arvin could reply. The surgeon pulled off his cap as he walked towards Jack, who stood up and tried to prepare himself for the worst.
***
"Eat," Arvin said as he set down a tray with a small bowl of soup on it.
Jack shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
"It wasn't a request, Agent Bristow."
"I haven't been Agent Bristow in over a year, Arvin, you know that."
"I do," Arvin said, sitting down in an empty chair across the bed. He looked at the pale woman lying there and sighed. "I also know that at heart, you are a follower, and you're used to taking my orders."
Jack's stomach rolled when he looked down at the food. "I can't eat."
"Having you in the hospital won't help her. When she'll need you, you won't be able to be there for her, Jack."
He didn't even have the strength to argue. "Fuck you."
Arvin chuckled. Jack knew he was remembering a night where they'd both kept themselves sane by trying to remember every curse they knew in every language. "I'm doing it for self preservation."
Jack looked over at his friend and saw that he had lost sleep the last few days, too. His skin was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. "Self preservation?"
Nodding his head towards the woman on the bed, he answered, "She will kill me if she wakes up and finds out I've allowed you to collapse at her bedside."
Jack reached for the soup and set the tray in his lap. Barely showing his distaste, he picked up the spoon and dipped it into the dark broth. When he finally brought it to his mouth, he was surprised by how good it tasted. He took another bite.
Arvin nodded and stood. "I'm having them bring a cot in here for you to sleep on during the night. And I'll have someone come by once a day to keep you informed on our hunt for Sydney."
"Arvin." He heard the footsteps stop behind him. "I'm tired."
A hand lay on his shoulder. "I know."
Jack heard the sound of Arvin turning to leave again. He forced himself to say the words he had been denying for over a year. "She's dead."
A painful silence filled the room. "I know."
"If she wasn't dead--"
"We'd already have heard from her."
His shoulders began to shake. "I didn't--"
Arvin took the tray out of his lap and set aside. He squatted down beside him. "Jack--"
"My daughter's dead, and I may have killed Irina with my desperate desire to deny that truth."
They both looked at the woman lying on the bed surrounded by tubes and bandages. Arvin didn't answer him. He didn't need to.
***
Irina walked to where Jack sat. His arms were across his knees as he stared out into the ocean. Ever since their arrival, he had spent hours there on the beach, just staring. It would've worried her except she watched him slowly heal as the month passed.
While she healed physically, he healed emotionally. The nightmares were making way for sleep-filled nights, and he began eating again. And he talked. About Sydney. Constantly. If he was not looking out at the water in silence, he was talking about their daughter. Some of the memories they shared, but most they didn't.
Irina thought of her years of searching for Rambaldi's device, a machine that was helping her and Sloane take over the world. But it couldn't give her what she wanted the most right now: more time with her daughter.
She sank down into the warm sand beside him. Her white pants would show the stains, but she didn't care. She thought she understood his desire to watch the power of the waves, thought she could feel some of their healing power herself. Watching them slam against the shore, everything felt timeless.
He waited until the sun was blood-red on the water before he spoke. "I take it Sloane called."
Nodding, she held her thin white blouse tighter to her body. The wind was starting to get a chill in it now that the sun was setting. "Yes, he wants to know if I'm ready to get back into the action."
Jack continued to stare out at the ocean. "What did you tell him?"
She pushed her hair behind her ear. "I told him I would discuss it with you."
"Why?" He finally looked at her.
"I don't know," she admitted. Even as she had said the words to Sloane, she had wondered what was going through her own mind. She had never truly felt the need to answer to anyone for her actions. She'd never allowed a man she was sleeping with to decide her course, but she had left Jack once. Left him while knowing she loved him, but believing there was something else out there, something bigger than love, that she needed to explore.
She had done it then, but she didn't think she could do it now. Or maybe the real issue was that she didn't want to do it now. She liked being with Jack, liked bouncing ideas off of him, liked hearing him talk about their daughter, and liked knowing that he would die to protect her because that was the kind of man he was. Maybe it was different now because he really knew her. It was easier to leave when you told yourself it was all a lie.
"What do you want me to say, Irina?"
"I don't know."
He stared at her, and she stared back at him, letting him see her. He nodded and then turned his focus back to the sea. "I never thought to work with Sloane again."
"You don't have to."
"I'm good at what I do, Irina. If I was going to stop working, I would've done it when my wife died and my entire life crumbled around my eyes."
His words were said without heat, without accusation. She put her hand in the sand, picked up a pile, and let it sift through her fingers. "Jack, we never talk about the past."
Some of the sand blew on his shirt. "The past is the past, Irina. I'm not sure--Sydney's--I don't want to go over our past. I want it to stay there."
She thought of the explanations she wanted to give. Explanations she had thought of so many times in the middle of the night, but never uttered. Not to him. Not to Sydney. Looking at the man beside her, a man who had aged a decade over the last two years, she knew they would never be said.
After all, what would be the point? He knew her reasons as well as she did, and that didn't make what she did right for him. He was hurt, and there wasn't anything she could say or do to change that. But if she had done anything else, she wouldn't be the woman she was either.
"What about the future, Jack? Can we discuss that?"
He was silent for a long while, and she could tell he was studying the word as if it was a strange and new idea. "The future?" He waited a moment longer and then she saw the edge of his lips curl. "Yeah, we can talk about the future. Now."
