**Author's Note**
To conform with this fic's PG-13 rating, the first part of this chapter was heavily edited. If you'd like to see it in its entirety, go to www.sd-1.com.
*********************************************************
"Don't go yet. Please."
Irina looked enquiringly at Jack.
"I'd like to…could you…could we just stay and talk for a while?" Jack finished uncomfortably.
Irina shook her head. "I don't think I can do that, Jack," she said tightly, bending down to finish her packing.
"Why not?" he asked, heart sinking. So soon. He would be alone again, so soon.
Irina looked up, a last time, and Jack could see the tension etched across her face. "Because you're sitting in front of me wet, naked, and handcuffed," she snapped waspishly. "And I'm not sure I can be responsible for my actions much longer."
Jack gaped at her with an open mouth, then taking in the heat in her gaze as her eyes raked his body, said in a strangled voice, "W-We wouldn't have to talk."
"Oh?" she said silkily, and advanced on him. "What else did you have in mind?"
Jack swallowed. "Anything you'd like. Within reason," he hastily added, noting the look in her eye.
**
Sometime later, the Security minder paused for a second, listening at the door, and whistled in silent admiration. Sh*t-faced as he had been, Bristow seemed to be doing just fine. And was certainly getting his money's worth.
**
"A hooker?" Sloane repeated, dumbfounded, to his Security head.
"Jack Bristow slept with a hooker last night?"
The man nodded. "Stayed with her until 5am, then walked home under
his own power. Whistling."
"You're sure it wasn't a contact?"
"According to his minder, he was plastered when the hooker
first approached him. You'd have to
agree, sir, it would be unlikely that Bristow would make a contact drunk. There'd be too much risk. Besides," the man cleared his throat
uncomfortably, "our agent verified the nature of the activity occurring in the
room. It was, er, quite convincingly
consistent."
"Very well. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."
Sloane watched pensively as his head of Security left his office.
Standing orders were to report behavior out of character for any of Sloane's
upper echelon. This certainly qualified, thought Sloane. As far as
he knew, it was a first. Perhaps, he reflected, it was the beginning of the
end for Jack Bristow.
"Excuse me, Arvin." Speak of the devil, thought Sloane
irritably. He waved Jack in. He considered mentioning the events of
the previous evening, but didn't know where to start.
"Arvin, I owe you an apology."
Sloane's head snapped up and he examined Jack more carefully. No signs of
a hangover, and Jack was looking more clear-eyed than he had in months.
"I've had some difficulty dealing with the stress of Sydney's illness and
I'm afraid I slipped into some bad habits. If I've disappointed you in
any way, I apologize. I can assure you it won't happen again."
Arvin waved his hand casually, as if he hadn't noticed. "No hard
feelings, Jack. Thank you for coming to me. You know I'm always
here if you need to talk to someone."
Yeah, right, thought Jack. "Thank you, Arvin. Unless
there's anything else, I have some work to catch up on." Jack turned
and headed out of the office.
Sloane watched him go, bemused. Who would have thought that all Jack
Bristow needed was a good f*ck?