Horses.

They had been Sydney's favorite.

Irina Derrevko reflected on this useless piece of information as she traced graceful fingers along the delicate figurines of the silver charm bracelet in the palm of her hand. It was one of few things she had kept of her former life as Lura Bristow.

That and her memories.

Irina was about as far from sentimental as it was possible to get. She had used all her extensive training to seduce Jack Bristow; she had played the role of loving wife while simultaneously carrying out missions. Her superiors had been pleased with the amount of information she was able to collect, and as Jack was promoted the value of the Intel rose and the cover was extended.

The beautiful face remained completely composed as her thoughts turned to progeny of that cover.  Alexander had been shocked and more then a little jealous when she had reported that she was pregnant; he had been a possessive lover even then. She been ordered to proceed, it would cement her ties to her already adoring husband.

So she had in accordance to their wishes, thrown Lura Bristow into the role of expectant mother with unchecked enthusiasm. Her photographic memory had been useful when it came to all the books that Jack insisted on buying. As her pregnancy progressed, she couldn't help but be affected by the life growing within her.

Irina gently massaged her swollen abdomen using the expensive oils Jack had sent over from Japan. He had wanted to stay with her during the last trimester but the CIA had insisted he be present at the particular conference. She of course had been understanding, supportive and lovingly kissed him goodbye at the airport.

Sitting alone in the modest but tasteful lounge Lura Bristow did what limited domestic work her increasing size would allow. Hands that had calmly applied pressure to the jugular of countless targets now gently soothed her restlessly baby with a tenderness she would not have thought possible.

But it was all the same; it did not matter if she was playing the role of wife, mother or even lover; it was all the same to her.

Not real.

"But you are, aren't you my little one?" Irina whispered softly for once allowing her native language to accent her voice. As if to confirm her words the baby girl kicked. Alexander had ordered her to find the sex and see whether that would influence Jack Bristow's attachment to the child, and it hadn't. Jack had been ecstatic when she had told him, his only complaint was that he hadn't been able to accompany her to the appointment.

In spite of her best efforts and rigorous concealment of the fact, she found herself becoming genuinely attached to her child.

Something that would have to be brought under control

She was a KGB agent.

Emotional attachment had never been an option.

She cried when it was deemed necessary, she accepted with gratitude the tenderness Jack bestowed upon her, carefully moderating her apparent moods when hormonal levels surged, even though the extent of her discipline meant that she could easily maintain a front of blissful happiness if required.

Laura Bristow needed to seem real.

 She who had kept going with several gun shot wounds now complained about morning sickness and back pain.

It would have been degrading if it were not part of the profile.

***

Perfectly controlled hands clasped around the bracelet. Sydney had bought it with her own money, using already advanced math skills to meticulously save for it. Sydney had been devastated when she lost it, and Irina had found it two days later, under the front seat of car she would use to fake her death a only few hours later.

Gliding with catlike grace Irina moved over to the wooden oak dresser on the other side of the lavishly decorated room. The sunlight streaming through the balcony gave her an almost angelic appearance, a fact that couldn't be more deceptive.

Opening the top drawer, the woman known as "The Man" to most of the world, replaced Sydney's bracelet and allowed her eyes to stray over the faded paper that lay next to the shimmering bracelet. In an almost subconscious gesture she reached at unfolded the well-worn page.

Laura,

Accept, dear girl, this little token,


And if between the lines you seek,


You'll find the love I've often spoken—


The love my dying lips shall speak.



Our little ones are making merry


O'er am'rous ditties rhymed in jest,


But in these words (though awkward—very)


The genuine article's expressed.



You are as fair and sweet and tender,


Dear brown-eyed little sweetheart mine,


As when, a callow youth and slender,


I asked to be your Valentine.



What though these years of ours be fleeting?


What though the years of youth be flown?


I'll mock old Tempus with repeating,


"I love my love and her alone!"



And when I fall before his reaping,


And when my stuttering speech is dumb,


Think not my love is dead or sleeping,


But that it waits for you to come.


So take, dear love, this little token,


And if there speaks in any line


The sentiment I'd fain have spoken,


Say, will you kiss your Valentine?

I will never find adequate words to express all I feel but let this be in the words of Eugene Field a little token.

You are forever my world

Jack

Till this day Irina had never been able to workout why she had kept this trivial piece of sentiment. With no witnesses she hadn't even acknowledged it beyond a disdainful glance, it was nothing but prove of how well she had played her role. How very hard the astute Jack Bristow had fallen for her illusion.

Maybe it was professional pride that made her kept it.

"Irina?"

"The Man" turned around and regarded her associate and sometimes lover coolly. Alexander Khasinau was standing in the doorway smiling victoriously and offering a bottle of wine for her inspection.

"Things went well I trust?" She asked raising a semi- tolerant eyebrow while daftly replacing the letter.

"A complete and original copy of Milo Rambaldi's manuscript will be in our possession by nightfall." Alexander entered the room and kissed her proffered cheek.

Irina deliberately avoided his attempts to kiss her more passionately but accepted the wineglass.

Alexander repressed a sigh as he moved a respectful distance away from her. He was under no illusions about their relationship. It was strictly physical satisfaction, dictated primarily by Irina. He could never control her. She was far too talented for that.

He couldn't not help feeling that some lingering part of her belonged to Jack Bristow, not in any sentimental way, at least not to a degree that he could detect, she was far too ruthless to allow anything as petty as and inconsequential as emotion stand in her way.

AN: Just wanted to say thanks to all those who have reviewed my fic, I've tried to email everyone, but I think I missed a few people. THANK YOU! :-)

Alex