Sloane eyed Jack critically as he entered the office and sighed to himself. Bristow was suffering from another massive hangover. Not surprising, really, thought Sloane to himself, reviewing Security's report in his mind. Any human being imbibing the quantity of alcohol that Jack had the previous evening was lucky to be standing upright the next day.
He had only himself to blame. He had pushed Jack too hard, too fast. Damn Bristow's sense of morality. It was taking longer to wear him down than Sloane had initially estimated. Not that Jack refused any assignment. He had not even threatened to since that little test several months ago. He was just taking it - well, all too personally, Sloane felt. Six billion people on the planet - a few less really did not make a difference.
At least Jack was still reporting to work. Although, if he tracked true to form, in several weeks that would be in doubt as well. Sydney, Sloane remembered, had been the one to snap Jack out of it last time. Coming home from school and stumbling over Jack, passed out in the front hallway. That wasn't an option this time. Jack was going to have to pull himself out of this spiral himself. Or Sloane's prize asset would become a liability.
**
Jack leaned heavily on the bar and attempted to get the attention of the bartender, who appeared to be studiously ignoring him. Was he being shut off? But he had just gotten here, hadn't he? Blearily, Jack surveyed the empty glasses stacked in front of him. Time to find a new bar.
"Is this seat taken?" purred a voice close to Jack's ear. He looked up in confusion as a spectacular redhead perched on the seat next to his, not waiting for his answer.
"You're new here, aren't you?" she asked. Jack tried to concentrate on his answer, slightly distracted by the hand sliding up his thigh.
"Yeah," was his articulate response.
"Want to buy me a drink?" she suggested.
This was easier. "Can't," said Jack simply. He gestured at the bartender, who continued to ignore him.
"I might have...a little something...up in my room," she whispered in his ear, her hand now fondling his groin. "Private stock. Want to check?"
The very small portion of Jack's brain that was still functioning urged caution, but was overruled. "Yeah," he choked out. He stood up unsteadily and followed her up the stairs, holding onto the railing for support.
This should be fun, thought the Security minder to himself as he watched Jack stagger after the hooker. He probably can't even untie his own shoes. He spoke softly into his mike, then settled in for a long evening.
**
Jack stood bemused, watching as the redhead swiftly undressed him. She was still fully clothed. At some level, this did not make sense. "Clothes," he said indistinctly, pointing at her.
"First things first," she said cheerfully, walking around behind him.
Jack felt the cold steel of handcuffs tighten around his wrists. "Uh-oh," he said, faint alarm bells going off inside his head.
"Got it in one, Bristow."
Jack was helpless to resist as she pinched his nose and forced a foul tasting liquid down his throat. The predictable physical reaction was almost instantaneous. "Help," he gasped.
The redhead steered him rapidly towards the bathroom, then forced him to his knees in front of the toilet, where Jack thoroughly emptied his stomach of its contents. Several times.
"Done?" inquired the redhead, reaching over to turn on the shower.
Jack nodded in relief.
"Good," she said briskly, then propelled him into the shower stall.
Jack gasped as the freezing cold water hit him, but was unable to back away, as the redhead grabbed his hair and tilted his face up into the spray. "Stop," he spluttered, when she briefly let him come up for air. The only response he received was to have his face plunged once more into the cold spray.
As conscious thought began to return, Jack's linguistic abilities revived, rewarding his assailant, when he could get a breath, with a creative and wide-ranging series of invective. His struggles became more powerful, but with his hands cuffed, and a shower floor that had thoughtfully been soaped in advance, he was at a disadvantage against the iron grip that held him.
Finally, and without warning, he was pulled out of the shower and shoved, stumbling, back into the room. He whirled on his attacker, preparing to defend himself, only to narrow his eyes as he was finally able to focus properly.
"You!" he spat in fury. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Irina surveyed her naked, damp, and shivering husband, and smiled. "Hello, Jack. Missed me?"
He had only himself to blame. He had pushed Jack too hard, too fast. Damn Bristow's sense of morality. It was taking longer to wear him down than Sloane had initially estimated. Not that Jack refused any assignment. He had not even threatened to since that little test several months ago. He was just taking it - well, all too personally, Sloane felt. Six billion people on the planet - a few less really did not make a difference.
At least Jack was still reporting to work. Although, if he tracked true to form, in several weeks that would be in doubt as well. Sydney, Sloane remembered, had been the one to snap Jack out of it last time. Coming home from school and stumbling over Jack, passed out in the front hallway. That wasn't an option this time. Jack was going to have to pull himself out of this spiral himself. Or Sloane's prize asset would become a liability.
**
Jack leaned heavily on the bar and attempted to get the attention of the bartender, who appeared to be studiously ignoring him. Was he being shut off? But he had just gotten here, hadn't he? Blearily, Jack surveyed the empty glasses stacked in front of him. Time to find a new bar.
"Is this seat taken?" purred a voice close to Jack's ear. He looked up in confusion as a spectacular redhead perched on the seat next to his, not waiting for his answer.
"You're new here, aren't you?" she asked. Jack tried to concentrate on his answer, slightly distracted by the hand sliding up his thigh.
"Yeah," was his articulate response.
"Want to buy me a drink?" she suggested.
This was easier. "Can't," said Jack simply. He gestured at the bartender, who continued to ignore him.
"I might have...a little something...up in my room," she whispered in his ear, her hand now fondling his groin. "Private stock. Want to check?"
The very small portion of Jack's brain that was still functioning urged caution, but was overruled. "Yeah," he choked out. He stood up unsteadily and followed her up the stairs, holding onto the railing for support.
This should be fun, thought the Security minder to himself as he watched Jack stagger after the hooker. He probably can't even untie his own shoes. He spoke softly into his mike, then settled in for a long evening.
**
Jack stood bemused, watching as the redhead swiftly undressed him. She was still fully clothed. At some level, this did not make sense. "Clothes," he said indistinctly, pointing at her.
"First things first," she said cheerfully, walking around behind him.
Jack felt the cold steel of handcuffs tighten around his wrists. "Uh-oh," he said, faint alarm bells going off inside his head.
"Got it in one, Bristow."
Jack was helpless to resist as she pinched his nose and forced a foul tasting liquid down his throat. The predictable physical reaction was almost instantaneous. "Help," he gasped.
The redhead steered him rapidly towards the bathroom, then forced him to his knees in front of the toilet, where Jack thoroughly emptied his stomach of its contents. Several times.
"Done?" inquired the redhead, reaching over to turn on the shower.
Jack nodded in relief.
"Good," she said briskly, then propelled him into the shower stall.
Jack gasped as the freezing cold water hit him, but was unable to back away, as the redhead grabbed his hair and tilted his face up into the spray. "Stop," he spluttered, when she briefly let him come up for air. The only response he received was to have his face plunged once more into the cold spray.
As conscious thought began to return, Jack's linguistic abilities revived, rewarding his assailant, when he could get a breath, with a creative and wide-ranging series of invective. His struggles became more powerful, but with his hands cuffed, and a shower floor that had thoughtfully been soaped in advance, he was at a disadvantage against the iron grip that held him.
Finally, and without warning, he was pulled out of the shower and shoved, stumbling, back into the room. He whirled on his attacker, preparing to defend himself, only to narrow his eyes as he was finally able to focus properly.
"You!" he spat in fury. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Irina surveyed her naked, damp, and shivering husband, and smiled. "Hello, Jack. Missed me?"