**********
Jack stands before the lone window, buttons his coat and crosses his arms, the motion drawing his jacket more closely around him. The small storage facility is empty this time of the day, the bored attendant more than happy to take an hour off after generous compensation in American dollars. The cool air of a German spring wafts through the flimsy building, carrying in the smells of the empty alley beyond. The fluorescent lights blink and flicker overhead, filling the room with unnaturally bright light. The only door swings open, hinges grating in a high-pitched squeal. Footsteps enter behind him, soft, slithering across the floor. He does not turn to look.
The footsteps stop just behind him. A whoosh of breath. A hand on his shoulder.
He recoils, as if she'd slapped him. He steps to the side, away from the offending hand, crossing his arms more tightly, the motion wrapping his jacket more securely.
"I received your summons," she says, with a trace of irony.
"I was sure with Sark in town, you wouldn't be far behind."
"And where is my associate?"
"En route to the CIA. I'm sure you're familiar with his accommodations."
"Sloane will be on the warpath when he learns what's happened."
Jack snorts. "Sloane isn't in the habit of going out of his way for his employees." He glances back at her for the first time. "You don't seem concerned."
She cocks her head to one side, crossing her arms. "As you said, I'm familiar with the accommodations." She pauses, studying the back he keeps turned to her. It's become a familiar sight. "I tried to contact you through the transmitter you gave me."
"It only works one way."
"So I discovered. But I'll admit to being surprised. No tracker, at least not one that I could find."
"I knew you wouldn't believe I was returning the earring. You would have discovered the tracker in five minutes."
"Three." She pauses again, waiting. He gives her no sign to continue. "Why did you call me here?"
"You're aware what happened today."
"That's not an answer."
He jerks around to face her, shoulders rigid, eyes flashing. "I hope you realize you are responsible for everything that happened today."
"For saving our daughter's life?"
"For almost having her killed. This isn't a game, Irina."
"You seem to be saying that a lot." Her voice remains low, even. His only grows louder.
"You seem to have no compunction when it comes to our daughter's life."
"Like the compunction you had when you allowed her to be brought into SD-6? To work for Arvin Sloane?" Her voice grows lower, almost a hiss.
"That was not my decision. Arvin recruited her behind my back. I rejoined the CIA after I learned about it."
He stops, glaring at her, and draws back a step. An intake of breath, a hand across the forehead, and in only a moment, he is the calm, composed Jack she sees so often. "There's no reason to discuss this with you. You have made both your affinity for Sloane and your disregard for Sydney perfectly clear."
"And my disregard for you?" She tilts her head, studying his temple, the spot where it tenses every time he clinches his jaw.
His tone is even, and venomous. "I've never doubted that."
"You sell me short, Jack."
"Do I?"
"You've agreed to meet with me now -- lured me here."
"Based on my concern for Sydney."
"A concern I apparently don't share."
"You made the decision, Irina. It was always yours to make."
"I made a decision twenty years ago -- nothing has changed in twenty years?"
"Why don't you ask William Vaughn about that? I don't think things have changed much for him in the last twenty years."
"So that's what this is about? You're here for payback? For a man you didn't know?"
"Twelve men."
"That you didn't know. You've never killed anyone, have you, Jack? You've never lied, misled, used the ends to justify the means. Tell me, how did you help start SD-6, again?"
"Irina, I am not here--"
"You knew what was happening in Panama. You set yourself up as the martyr. Poor, poor, Jack, betrayed by his wife again. I don't see how anyone could find you culpable now. Especially not our daughter."
"For someone who claims to have played into my hands, you certainly went along willingly."
"I got what I wanted."
"As did I. Do you think Sydney will ever trust you again? That she'll ever speak to you?"
"I'm sure she'd love to speak to you, once she knows your dealings with me."
"I'm sure she would." He reaches into his pocket. "Why don't you tell her? Call her up; I'm sure she'll listen. Do you want to use my phone?"
She takes the phone, slowly, from his hand, holding it with two fingers like a dirty rag. She lets it drop to the floor, clattering across the dusty concrete . "Why are you here, Jack? Certainly not for information? You're not going to keep hiding behind that story."
"I'm here for the same reason you are."
"The sex?"
"If you're trying to make a joke, you're going to have to try harder."
"Too bad. I thought it worked."
She pauses, waiting for him to respond, but he only continues to glare. She watches him, her eyes flicking up and down his frame, ending where they began -- his unmoving expression.
"You know what I miss, Jack? What I've never forgotten? Your laugh. I used to hear it, every day, even the days you weren't around, I could hear it in our house. And I don't think I've heard it since I returned. You're not enjoying this, Jack, are you? How long has it been since you've been happy?"
"The -- problem -- is that you enjoy your work too much. Murder, treachery, blackmail, turning your back on your family -- who wouldn't?"
"So that's it? You've brought me here to pay for my crimes?"
"You've had your chance for to prove yourself."
"I've had many chances, Jack."
"Yet you chose to take none of them."
"Perhaps I'm waiting for the right one."
"Perhaps you're twenty years too late."
An expression he's unfamiliar with flickers across her face, darkening her eyes. She does not meet his gaze.
"Well, if that's it, then. That's all I am. Congratulations, you seem to have me figured out. There's no more reason for me to stay. If you want to meet, I'm sure you'll summon me."
She turns quickly and strides out, heels making a hollow sound as she crosses the dusty concrete. He whirls back to the window, fists clenched. The sound of her heels disappears, followed by the reverberating slam of the metal door. Only then does he let his head fall forward, resting it against the cool glass.