( 17 months post-The Telling)
Weeks passed. Irina recovered and redoubled her efforts. Sloane was infuriated; Jack was sanguine. He had given up trying to anticipate her next move. Instead he could, and did, build redundancy into all his strategies. Virtually every key objective could be achieved via multiple paths; every time Irina slammed a door shut on him, another would open. And, just like that, he thought to himself smugly, he was infallible again.
Of course, this made the complexity of his strategies grow exponentially. He had to achieve Sloane's objectives. He had to build in the seeds of Sloane's collapse. He needed to steer them all to Sydney's recovery. He couldn't make any mistakes. And now every strategy needed an alternate path.
Thank God for Il Dire, Jack thought to himself as he lay back down on the table with relief. He looked around the basement lab. He should just go ahead and move his desk down here. He could now tolerate up to 10 hours a day; he needed almost every single minute of it to stay ahead of Irina.
He wondered idly how she was reacting.
**
Irina's gun butt slammed into the computer monitor. The technician leapt back, alarmed, as glass shards showered his desk. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, "I was just trying to show you-"
"-that we won the battle and lost the war. Again," said Irina through clenched teeth. The mission had been a total success, flawlessly executed. Her team had just secured the laboratory and research records for a new surveillance technology, one that would be of immediate and devastating use against Sloane. And in the middle of her team's celebration had come satellite footage of the technology's lead scientist being kidnapped from his home. No doubt, she seethed, he would be coughing up the system's vulnerabilities in hours.
Damn Jack. She had eavesdropped on his strategy planning sessions for 10 years and he had *never* been this good.
**
Jack's mood was low as he finished off the day's session. It had been almost 3 months since he had seen Irina; "Until next time," could easily translate into "Never again." He knew he wouldn't be able to dodge his Security detail again, couldn't risk Sloane's becoming suspicious as he was getting so close to the end. Less than a year, now.
Never again…he shifted on the table, considering. What the hell, he thought to himself. He'd check her future again to make sure no more threats loomed. And if he vicariously enjoyed watching her – it would be an innocent perk.
"18 months," he said to the technician. He relaxed and picked one of her many
futures at random.
The sun was setting, casting bronze rays over the beach. Between 2 trees stretched a rope hammock;
Irina lay softly napping, lulled by the rhythmic pounding of the surf in the
background. Humming, Jack stepped carefully out of their villa, balancing
a tray with drinks and freshly sliced fruit, and carried it down to the hammock. He glanced over at his
wife, who was now feigning sleep, her lips slightly open. Grinning, he
picked up the pitcher and, holding it high above her head, slowly tipped it so
that a small stream of liquid entered her mouth. A small wobble, and some
splashed on her face as well.
Irina sat up quickly. "What the - ?" she spluttered, glaring at
Jack. "Always wanted to try that," was Jack's apologetic
reply. "I need to refine it a bit. Here, let me help," he
grinned, pushing her back down and slowly licking up the excess liquid from her
face and lips.
Irina relaxed, savoring the sensation of Jack's tongue flicking over her
face. "What else did you bring me?" she smiled, mollified.
"Fruit," came the prompt reply. "Want some?"
"You're not going to drop it in my mouth, are you?" she asked
suspiciously.
"Not today," he teased. Jack picked up a piece of mango and
carefully placed it in Irina's mouth, holding it as she chewed.
"Mmmmn," she said, rivulets of juice running down her chin. She
took hold of Jack's hand and sensually sucked the remaining juice off each of
his fingers. She looked up, eyes laughing, as she heard Jack's sharp
intake of breath.
"Did you bring me anything else?" she asked suggestively, eyes
glancing at his bathing suit, which seemed to have gotten smaller.
Jack moaned in anticipation, then his eyes popped open as realization hit
him. A future. He had just seen one of Irina's possible
futures. And in it, he and Irina were…together. You're not alone. A wave of almost physical pain shook him.
Ripping off the wires connecting him to Il Dire he sat up, trembling, gazing
sightlessly at the far wall. It had been so real, so right….
"Are you okay, sir?" asked the technician tentatively.
No! he wanted to scream.
"Fine," Jack replied, controlling his breathing with an effort. "Just a little dizzy. I think I'm done for today."
…and it had been so wrong. Because it would never happen. Could never happen. He had already chosen his future. Darkness.
**
Jack stood at Sydney's bedside, and passed a trembling hand over his sweating face. She was the same as she had been the last visit, and the visit before. What had changed? Had he changed? Two years ago, when he had looked at her, he had seen his salvation. Today he looked at her and saw – his destruction.
He had loved Laura too much, and it had destroyed him 20 years ago. Had he loved Sydney too much? His honor, his country, his future, his life, Irin- . He closed his eyes as a wave of nausea rolled over him.
God, what's wrong with you Bristow? he thought with disgust as his hands clenched the bedrail for support. Jack fought down the surge of resentment and bitterness that filled him, struggling to center himself. He concentrated. Sydney, 5 years old, on the carousel. Laughing with joy. Hugging her father as she had gotten off, filled with love.
The tension gradually left him. Yes, it was worth it.