....44..........45.............46............
Jack lowered himself slowly to the floor, dripping sweat. He was pleased to note that his scar did not hurt quite so much. Scar tissue must be stretching, he thought to himself.
It had been 4 weeks now. Jack was still being interrogated daily, but the atmosphere had thawed noticeably with Sloane's death and the collapse of his network. Although they still couldn't figure out how he had done it.
He paused his train of thought as he detected footsteps. Irina, he thought with pleasure. He turned towards the glass, pulling on his shirt.
"Hello, Jack. Missed me?" Irina asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.
"Hello, Irina," said Jack, smiling at the memory. Definitely something that wouldn't be shared during interrogation. "Where have you been?"
Irina wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You name the nasty corner of the world, and I've been there. You left quite a mess 4 weeks ago. Some of it was too ugly for the CIA to touch, so I helped out."
"You voluntarily assisted the CIA?"
"Kendall and I have an understanding," said Irina with dignity. "There were some areas where it was...mutually beneficial." She winked.
Jack rolled his eyes. The sooner he was out to keep an eye on her, the better. Kendall was clearly out of his league.
Irina scanned the room, and noted that a blanket now graced Jack's cot. Jack followed her look and grinned. "Earned my blanket. A full 2 months faster than you earned yours," he teased.
"You always were a pushover," sniffed Irina, but her eyes danced. "How are the sessions going?"
Jack shrugged. "Better. They've run out of insults and mostly stick to the facts. Only eight weeks to go. How's Sydney?"
"Fully recovered. She's spending a lot of time with Will. He listens well."
"When he's not talking," muttered Jack.
"I... brought you a picture of her," said Irina casually. She held it up to the glass so that Jack could see. She pretended not to notice the flash of pain in Jack's eyes. Sydney still refused to visit her father. Irina was running out of patience.
"She looks good," he said, his voice remarkably steady. "Will they...can I keep it?" he asked wistfully.
"No," said Irina quietly. "I'm sorry. Some rubbish about giving pictures of CIA agents to criminals."
Jack nodded glumly.
Change the subject, Derevko. "Sydney's submitted her resignation to the CIA," she said brightly. "Of course, she insisted on actually seeing Sloane's body before she'd concede that he was finally out of her life."
"Thank goodness."
Irina was silent for a moment. "Jack?"
Jack observed with amusement that Irina was fiddling with her hair. He suspected he knew what was bothering her. "Yes?"
"Did you....did you plan *all* of it?"
"Well, since no one has actually told me what happened, it's difficult to take credit for 'all of it'. But yes, I planned for a number of things to happen."
"But you couldn't have known that Sloane would...,"
Jack cocked an eyebrow.
"Never mind," finished Irina irritably. "He's dead, that's all that matters." She hesitated again. "Jack?"
"Yes?" he drawled. Just spit it out, Irina, he thought to himself.
"Il Dire was destroyed," she said carefully. "Sloane blew it to pieces before he shot himself." She shot a worried glance at her husband. Would he be upset? Devastated? How strong was the obsession still?
"Good."
"Good?"
"Good," said Jack with finality.
Irina sighed silently to herself in relief.
"Because," said Jack, eyes twinkling as he looked at his wife, "I've decided that I like my life...unpredictable."
Jack lowered himself slowly to the floor, dripping sweat. He was pleased to note that his scar did not hurt quite so much. Scar tissue must be stretching, he thought to himself.
It had been 4 weeks now. Jack was still being interrogated daily, but the atmosphere had thawed noticeably with Sloane's death and the collapse of his network. Although they still couldn't figure out how he had done it.
He paused his train of thought as he detected footsteps. Irina, he thought with pleasure. He turned towards the glass, pulling on his shirt.
"Hello, Jack. Missed me?" Irina asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.
"Hello, Irina," said Jack, smiling at the memory. Definitely something that wouldn't be shared during interrogation. "Where have you been?"
Irina wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You name the nasty corner of the world, and I've been there. You left quite a mess 4 weeks ago. Some of it was too ugly for the CIA to touch, so I helped out."
"You voluntarily assisted the CIA?"
"Kendall and I have an understanding," said Irina with dignity. "There were some areas where it was...mutually beneficial." She winked.
Jack rolled his eyes. The sooner he was out to keep an eye on her, the better. Kendall was clearly out of his league.
Irina scanned the room, and noted that a blanket now graced Jack's cot. Jack followed her look and grinned. "Earned my blanket. A full 2 months faster than you earned yours," he teased.
"You always were a pushover," sniffed Irina, but her eyes danced. "How are the sessions going?"
Jack shrugged. "Better. They've run out of insults and mostly stick to the facts. Only eight weeks to go. How's Sydney?"
"Fully recovered. She's spending a lot of time with Will. He listens well."
"When he's not talking," muttered Jack.
"I... brought you a picture of her," said Irina casually. She held it up to the glass so that Jack could see. She pretended not to notice the flash of pain in Jack's eyes. Sydney still refused to visit her father. Irina was running out of patience.
"She looks good," he said, his voice remarkably steady. "Will they...can I keep it?" he asked wistfully.
"No," said Irina quietly. "I'm sorry. Some rubbish about giving pictures of CIA agents to criminals."
Jack nodded glumly.
Change the subject, Derevko. "Sydney's submitted her resignation to the CIA," she said brightly. "Of course, she insisted on actually seeing Sloane's body before she'd concede that he was finally out of her life."
"Thank goodness."
Irina was silent for a moment. "Jack?"
Jack observed with amusement that Irina was fiddling with her hair. He suspected he knew what was bothering her. "Yes?"
"Did you....did you plan *all* of it?"
"Well, since no one has actually told me what happened, it's difficult to take credit for 'all of it'. But yes, I planned for a number of things to happen."
"But you couldn't have known that Sloane would...,"
Jack cocked an eyebrow.
"Never mind," finished Irina irritably. "He's dead, that's all that matters." She hesitated again. "Jack?"
"Yes?" he drawled. Just spit it out, Irina, he thought to himself.
"Il Dire was destroyed," she said carefully. "Sloane blew it to pieces before he shot himself." She shot a worried glance at her husband. Would he be upset? Devastated? How strong was the obsession still?
"Good."
"Good?"
"Good," said Jack with finality.
Irina sighed silently to herself in relief.
"Because," said Jack, eyes twinkling as he looked at his wife, "I've decided that I like my life...unpredictable."