AN: Sorry about the delay all I can say is Bio exams seriously suck on top
of major writer's block. I hope you enjoy this chapter :-) you know the
drill R&R please?
AN2 It is entirely possible that I have mixed up the timeline. Izabel was
born 4/7/81 approx 8 months after 'Laura' dies.
As always huge thanks to my readers both at SD1 and ff.net and of course GG and Ducks
Special dedication: To Gabs for loving Irina almost as much as I do
Chapter 4- In shadows
Unknown location-Europe 21 May 1988
"The number you have dialled has been disconnected, please hang up and try again"
The woman on the other end of the line had no intention of trying again. In fact she didn't even know what had spurred her impulsive desire to phone that number, much less on an unsecured line among strangers. The bar was thick with smoke and heavy with the smell of tobacco smoke and that probably would have offended her in a previous life. The patrons making lurid semi serious passes at the brown haired stunner would have certainly been discouraged most strenuously but now, Irina Derevko welcomed the uncomplicated ignorant attention. Like everything her presence among the drunks had a purpose.
The barest hint of a smile caught at maroon coloured lips. The whispered comments about her being a 'seductress' and 'true mistress' while being true also held an element of falsehood. None of her admirers, at lest those who thought beyond their libidos, would consider her an adequate candidate to hold a master's degree in English literature or to be a mother. It would never cross the minds of the more ambitious that the object of their attention could easily overpower them without the slightest energy expenditure.
Shakespeare's paradoxical theme of appearance verses reality. The story of her adult life.
Her hammerless reflections were interrupted with the arrival of her contact. The balding man was evidentially had prior knowledge for he sat down putting a very respectful, fear driven space between them.
"Miss Derevko?" the man radiated fear and Irina's well-trained eye could see the hammering pulse underneath his dishevelled clothing.
"Have you got the formulae?" she asked putting down her untouched wine glass.
"No.if I could just have a little more time"
"Mr. Smith you have already been given a two week extension my superiors will be most displeased with this further delay". The man stiffened in terror but to his credit did nothing more to try her precariously thin patience. It was clear that he feared Irina's retribution far more then any unknown elements.
"You have a daughter?"
Smith nodded
"What is her name?"
"Jacqueline, please don't hurt her!" the choked strangled sob had no effect on her contrary to the scientist desperate hope unbeknownst to him it was the name of his daughter, a completely random event that had a far greater effect on his excuser.
Irina blinked rabidly the next scathing comment hitched in her throat fleetingly overwhelmed by memories.
**
Bristow Residence 1980 -two weeks before 'Laura' dies
"Jack, are you alright honey?"
Standing at the door to Sydney's room Laura Bristow smiled with disturbingly real tenderness. The scene before her was idyllic, so far removed from her on childhood experience. Her husband was sitting in the well -used rocking chair in the corner of the pastille coloured room. Sydney was cradled in his arms. The chair had been a gift from Gladys Bristow, Jack's grandmother, who had evidently gotten over her intense resentment towards his wife. Every aspect part of the room represented a cherished child, right to the unicorn embroiled tapestry above the bed or the extensive collection of battered books in the many shelves.
"She's so amazing" Jack whispered reverently.
"I know" Irina replied softly. Moving silently across the room she crouched down and clasped Jack's hand.
"Sydney's almost as beautiful as her mother"
"Sweet talker" she teased lifting Sydney and transferring into her bed, the girl instinctively nuzzled closer to her but remained undisturbed.
"What's wrong?" Irina asked again. Of course she already knew, having memorized the content of his briefcase two hours ago.
"Bad day at work" he replied, wrapping an arm around her waist pulling her to him. "I love you so much" it had taken her six months to stop inwardly wincing at the words or how willing this astute man played into her illusion. If she'd wanted to she could have stolen his considerable wealth, just as his relatives feared. Equally she could have destroyed the lives of those same people.
She would have had it been on profile.
"Come, let me see if I can make it seem just a little better" She murmured huskily, leading him towards their bedroom.
It struck Irina Derevko suddenly. That everything she had spent years painstakingly creating were to be analysed and dissected with clinical remoteness. In 14 days Laura Bristow and everything that she had embodied would for all intents and purposes cease to exist. Leaving behind two people genuinely grieving for a fictitious character.
Of whom she was author
She felt tears catch hard in her throat but Irina had long since learnt to skilfully manipulate the sound into a gasp of pleasure as Jack gently but forcefully guided her to the bed. With a familiarity she never expected her husband's calloused hands roamed her willing body. Jonathon Bristow may have been naïve with no sense of self-preservation but he was a talented lover.
Alexander expected her to report in at 2200. For once her multilevel existence culminated into a single being, to put it emotively. The pleasure felt by Laura could not be distinguished from her own. The normally impeccable sense of urgency faded into insignificance along with her superior's drilled instructions. All she could do was feel. Craving with helpless desperation to create a lasting impression on the man who would soon grieve for her death.
Instead of instigating casual work related conversation as ordered the KGB agent allowed her body to be used. Jack's body language was such that Irina knew he was seeking refuge in the one place he felt safe.
With the one person he should have most feared.
**
Irina gave no outward indication of her thoughts or their unrelated content then again the man before her viewed every gesture as life threatening, she doubted he would be analysing them particularly closely.
"You have 48 hours and I strongly recommend you don't exceed that timeframe" she interjected tonelessly. To her relief and professional pride the brief stirrings of compassion Smith had unintentionally invoked, were short lived. Irina envisioned with clinical detachment the steps necessary to secure the collateral.
The mistake did not enter the equation.
"Go" she said with giving the grovelling man a second glance.
Irina Derevko did not believe in fate. To believe in fate implied that an individual had little to no control over his or her existence, which equated to weakness, something that somebody in her position could ill afford. In spite of this firmly held philosophy no rational explanation was forthcoming as to why she did not eliminate all evidence of the child. Possible pregnancy hadn't even occurred to her during or after the event. This oversight alone was unforgivable. When coupled with her next actions it made her seem like an impossibly weak sentimental 'American'
She had been unable to kill the child growing within her.
Fate was a pathetic justification.
It was the only on she had.
As always huge thanks to my readers both at SD1 and ff.net and of course GG and Ducks
Special dedication: To Gabs for loving Irina almost as much as I do
Chapter 4- In shadows
Unknown location-Europe 21 May 1988
"The number you have dialled has been disconnected, please hang up and try again"
The woman on the other end of the line had no intention of trying again. In fact she didn't even know what had spurred her impulsive desire to phone that number, much less on an unsecured line among strangers. The bar was thick with smoke and heavy with the smell of tobacco smoke and that probably would have offended her in a previous life. The patrons making lurid semi serious passes at the brown haired stunner would have certainly been discouraged most strenuously but now, Irina Derevko welcomed the uncomplicated ignorant attention. Like everything her presence among the drunks had a purpose.
The barest hint of a smile caught at maroon coloured lips. The whispered comments about her being a 'seductress' and 'true mistress' while being true also held an element of falsehood. None of her admirers, at lest those who thought beyond their libidos, would consider her an adequate candidate to hold a master's degree in English literature or to be a mother. It would never cross the minds of the more ambitious that the object of their attention could easily overpower them without the slightest energy expenditure.
Shakespeare's paradoxical theme of appearance verses reality. The story of her adult life.
Her hammerless reflections were interrupted with the arrival of her contact. The balding man was evidentially had prior knowledge for he sat down putting a very respectful, fear driven space between them.
"Miss Derevko?" the man radiated fear and Irina's well-trained eye could see the hammering pulse underneath his dishevelled clothing.
"Have you got the formulae?" she asked putting down her untouched wine glass.
"No.if I could just have a little more time"
"Mr. Smith you have already been given a two week extension my superiors will be most displeased with this further delay". The man stiffened in terror but to his credit did nothing more to try her precariously thin patience. It was clear that he feared Irina's retribution far more then any unknown elements.
"You have a daughter?"
Smith nodded
"What is her name?"
"Jacqueline, please don't hurt her!" the choked strangled sob had no effect on her contrary to the scientist desperate hope unbeknownst to him it was the name of his daughter, a completely random event that had a far greater effect on his excuser.
Irina blinked rabidly the next scathing comment hitched in her throat fleetingly overwhelmed by memories.
**
Bristow Residence 1980 -two weeks before 'Laura' dies
"Jack, are you alright honey?"
Standing at the door to Sydney's room Laura Bristow smiled with disturbingly real tenderness. The scene before her was idyllic, so far removed from her on childhood experience. Her husband was sitting in the well -used rocking chair in the corner of the pastille coloured room. Sydney was cradled in his arms. The chair had been a gift from Gladys Bristow, Jack's grandmother, who had evidently gotten over her intense resentment towards his wife. Every aspect part of the room represented a cherished child, right to the unicorn embroiled tapestry above the bed or the extensive collection of battered books in the many shelves.
"She's so amazing" Jack whispered reverently.
"I know" Irina replied softly. Moving silently across the room she crouched down and clasped Jack's hand.
"Sydney's almost as beautiful as her mother"
"Sweet talker" she teased lifting Sydney and transferring into her bed, the girl instinctively nuzzled closer to her but remained undisturbed.
"What's wrong?" Irina asked again. Of course she already knew, having memorized the content of his briefcase two hours ago.
"Bad day at work" he replied, wrapping an arm around her waist pulling her to him. "I love you so much" it had taken her six months to stop inwardly wincing at the words or how willing this astute man played into her illusion. If she'd wanted to she could have stolen his considerable wealth, just as his relatives feared. Equally she could have destroyed the lives of those same people.
She would have had it been on profile.
"Come, let me see if I can make it seem just a little better" She murmured huskily, leading him towards their bedroom.
It struck Irina Derevko suddenly. That everything she had spent years painstakingly creating were to be analysed and dissected with clinical remoteness. In 14 days Laura Bristow and everything that she had embodied would for all intents and purposes cease to exist. Leaving behind two people genuinely grieving for a fictitious character.
Of whom she was author
She felt tears catch hard in her throat but Irina had long since learnt to skilfully manipulate the sound into a gasp of pleasure as Jack gently but forcefully guided her to the bed. With a familiarity she never expected her husband's calloused hands roamed her willing body. Jonathon Bristow may have been naïve with no sense of self-preservation but he was a talented lover.
Alexander expected her to report in at 2200. For once her multilevel existence culminated into a single being, to put it emotively. The pleasure felt by Laura could not be distinguished from her own. The normally impeccable sense of urgency faded into insignificance along with her superior's drilled instructions. All she could do was feel. Craving with helpless desperation to create a lasting impression on the man who would soon grieve for her death.
Instead of instigating casual work related conversation as ordered the KGB agent allowed her body to be used. Jack's body language was such that Irina knew he was seeking refuge in the one place he felt safe.
With the one person he should have most feared.
**
Irina gave no outward indication of her thoughts or their unrelated content then again the man before her viewed every gesture as life threatening, she doubted he would be analysing them particularly closely.
"You have 48 hours and I strongly recommend you don't exceed that timeframe" she interjected tonelessly. To her relief and professional pride the brief stirrings of compassion Smith had unintentionally invoked, were short lived. Irina envisioned with clinical detachment the steps necessary to secure the collateral.
The mistake did not enter the equation.
"Go" she said with giving the grovelling man a second glance.
Irina Derevko did not believe in fate. To believe in fate implied that an individual had little to no control over his or her existence, which equated to weakness, something that somebody in her position could ill afford. In spite of this firmly held philosophy no rational explanation was forthcoming as to why she did not eliminate all evidence of the child. Possible pregnancy hadn't even occurred to her during or after the event. This oversight alone was unforgivable. When coupled with her next actions it made her seem like an impossibly weak sentimental 'American'
She had been unable to kill the child growing within her.
Fate was a pathetic justification.
It was the only on she had.
