* * * *
"Is he angry?"
They had retreated from the rain into a small, unremarkable restaurant, the slightly more urbane environment dictating a more civilized tone to their conversation as well. They had hammered out a few more details concerning the logistics of their uneasy new partnership, but eventually the topic had turned once more to the boy.
"Angry at you?" Jack lifted one shoulder at her minimal nod. "Frankly, I don't know. You're the one topic he refuses to discuss. Professionally, it's the one modicum of loyalty he appears to have ever shown anyone. Personally, he seems to have decided that it's none of my business how he feels. I think that's something to be dealt with between the two of you alone."
"Somehow I doubt I'll be getting an opportunity to do that any time soon."
Jack snorted. "And I have no doubt that you'd find a way to do it if you really wanted to. That is the question though, isn't it?" he asked. "You aren't sure that you really want to know what he thinks, do you? That's why you never told him before. That's why you let me do it. You're afraid of his reaction. You're afraid that he won't be quite as understanding as Sydney was."
"Perhaps," she admitted objectively. "Sydney was able to forgive me because she still remembers an idealized mother who loved her. Stephen…" she faltered a little at the name. "He has no such comforting memories to influence him. He is pragmatic though. He might understand that I did the best I could in an impossible situation. But…" she shrugged.
"But you don't have any idea what he really thinks."
"He always has been adept at concealing his true opinions."
"Even from you? The expert judge of his temperament?"
She scowled momentarily at his sarcasm, then sighed. "Yes. Even from me. From the first day we brought him into the program he showed us only the face he thought we wanted to see. There were times as a child when he was still heartbreakingly easy to read, but with age and training, his natural skills have developed into very formidable defenses. Don't delude yourself into believing that you've managed to get close to him within a year." She gave him a melancholy smile. "Even after a dozen years, I couldn't do it."
"He said you were like a mother to him."
"I wasn't." The remorse that flickered across her face so quickly looked almost genuine enough to believe. "You should have realized before now how unreliable his perception of something like that would be. There were a dozen other children in that program. I gave him as much attention as I dared, but I could never…" her voice trailed off.
"You could never let him think he was special."
"No. But he was, Jack - the fastest, the brightest, the most ambitious. He earned his recognition, made sure we knew he was special. He demanded it."
"You're proud of him."
"Of course I am. And you should be too. He's every bit the agent Sydney is."
"But not the person," he said quietly. "Sydney has a conscience, a heart. She has ideals and compassion…"
"She's not perfect either. She has conspired to commit a murder. That isn't exactly the choice of an unequivocally moral person. And you aren't above it yourself, are you? Don't try to hold him to a different standard, Jack. He's no better and no worse than any other member of this family." She looked at him with a sudden intensity. "Don't give up on him yet. He's only twenty-three. He's not irredeemable… and maybe you can reach him after all - in a way that I never could."
Jack was startled by the abrupt change in her manner. Irina was staring at him in an oddly appraising fashion and when she spoke again there was an unexpected softness in her voice.
"Maybe I never did have a chance of reaching him after he was taken from me," she said. "The first thought that he has always connected with his mother is abandonment. Even when he had managed to half-convince himself that he wanted me to be a mother-figure to him, he couldn't bring himself to let me get close enough for that sort of relationship to develop. Now he knows the truth - that I'm the one who abandoned him for half of his life and that I've lied to him the other half - I don't expect that intimacy will be any more forthcoming than it was before."
She paused, rubbing absently at a water-stain on her glass. Jack thought that she appeared to be trying to decide how to phrase her next comments. He couldn't help wondering whether it was a ploy or if she truly was as troubled as she seemed to be.
"I don't think that he ever had much of a concept of his father," she continued slowly. "I don't think that he's ever held him - you - responsible for anything that has happened. To have all of this thrown at him now, while he's in your custody… I've made sure that he never saw you as the enemy - the opposition, of course - but never an enemy. If you really have never lied to him, if you can keep any promise you make to him… His father might just be the only person in the world he could learn to trust. Don't waste that opportunity."
He stared at her in astonishment. She sounded so sincere, but he had been taken in before. What purpose would it serve, he wondered, if he believed that he could convince the boy to trust him? Was this just another ruse designed to achieve some as-yet unperceived objective? Did it seem plausible because he wanted to believe it? Did it even matter? He hated the way that he always felt the need to second-guess his own evaluation of any situation that involved Irina. He knew that he had already begun to think he was making progress with Sark. He didn't want to have to re-examine everything he believed up to this point.
"I do want to see him again," Irina said softly. "Regardless of how he feels about me, I am his mother and just once I'd like to stand in the same room with him when he knows that. I want to be able to look at him and see my son."
Jack found himself nodding in agreement. He knew exactly the sentiment she was feeling. It was the one that had prompted him to take that incriminating sheet of paper and press it against the glass all those months ago. He realized now what he had intended with that action. It hadn't been enough for him to see the boy and know who he was. He had wanted… he had needed the boy to look back at him with the same knowledge.
They stared at one another across the table.
"Someday," he said. "Maybe someday."
He was rewarded with a wry, weary smile that looked familiar for far too many reasons.
* * * *
"Is he angry?"
They had retreated from the rain into a small, unremarkable restaurant, the slightly more urbane environment dictating a more civilized tone to their conversation as well. They had hammered out a few more details concerning the logistics of their uneasy new partnership, but eventually the topic had turned once more to the boy.
"Angry at you?" Jack lifted one shoulder at her minimal nod. "Frankly, I don't know. You're the one topic he refuses to discuss. Professionally, it's the one modicum of loyalty he appears to have ever shown anyone. Personally, he seems to have decided that it's none of my business how he feels. I think that's something to be dealt with between the two of you alone."
"Somehow I doubt I'll be getting an opportunity to do that any time soon."
Jack snorted. "And I have no doubt that you'd find a way to do it if you really wanted to. That is the question though, isn't it?" he asked. "You aren't sure that you really want to know what he thinks, do you? That's why you never told him before. That's why you let me do it. You're afraid of his reaction. You're afraid that he won't be quite as understanding as Sydney was."
"Perhaps," she admitted objectively. "Sydney was able to forgive me because she still remembers an idealized mother who loved her. Stephen…" she faltered a little at the name. "He has no such comforting memories to influence him. He is pragmatic though. He might understand that I did the best I could in an impossible situation. But…" she shrugged.
"But you don't have any idea what he really thinks."
"He always has been adept at concealing his true opinions."
"Even from you? The expert judge of his temperament?"
She scowled momentarily at his sarcasm, then sighed. "Yes. Even from me. From the first day we brought him into the program he showed us only the face he thought we wanted to see. There were times as a child when he was still heartbreakingly easy to read, but with age and training, his natural skills have developed into very formidable defenses. Don't delude yourself into believing that you've managed to get close to him within a year." She gave him a melancholy smile. "Even after a dozen years, I couldn't do it."
"He said you were like a mother to him."
"I wasn't." The remorse that flickered across her face so quickly looked almost genuine enough to believe. "You should have realized before now how unreliable his perception of something like that would be. There were a dozen other children in that program. I gave him as much attention as I dared, but I could never…" her voice trailed off.
"You could never let him think he was special."
"No. But he was, Jack - the fastest, the brightest, the most ambitious. He earned his recognition, made sure we knew he was special. He demanded it."
"You're proud of him."
"Of course I am. And you should be too. He's every bit the agent Sydney is."
"But not the person," he said quietly. "Sydney has a conscience, a heart. She has ideals and compassion…"
"She's not perfect either. She has conspired to commit a murder. That isn't exactly the choice of an unequivocally moral person. And you aren't above it yourself, are you? Don't try to hold him to a different standard, Jack. He's no better and no worse than any other member of this family." She looked at him with a sudden intensity. "Don't give up on him yet. He's only twenty-three. He's not irredeemable… and maybe you can reach him after all - in a way that I never could."
Jack was startled by the abrupt change in her manner. Irina was staring at him in an oddly appraising fashion and when she spoke again there was an unexpected softness in her voice.
"Maybe I never did have a chance of reaching him after he was taken from me," she said. "The first thought that he has always connected with his mother is abandonment. Even when he had managed to half-convince himself that he wanted me to be a mother-figure to him, he couldn't bring himself to let me get close enough for that sort of relationship to develop. Now he knows the truth - that I'm the one who abandoned him for half of his life and that I've lied to him the other half - I don't expect that intimacy will be any more forthcoming than it was before."
She paused, rubbing absently at a water-stain on her glass. Jack thought that she appeared to be trying to decide how to phrase her next comments. He couldn't help wondering whether it was a ploy or if she truly was as troubled as she seemed to be.
"I don't think that he ever had much of a concept of his father," she continued slowly. "I don't think that he's ever held him - you - responsible for anything that has happened. To have all of this thrown at him now, while he's in your custody… I've made sure that he never saw you as the enemy - the opposition, of course - but never an enemy. If you really have never lied to him, if you can keep any promise you make to him… His father might just be the only person in the world he could learn to trust. Don't waste that opportunity."
He stared at her in astonishment. She sounded so sincere, but he had been taken in before. What purpose would it serve, he wondered, if he believed that he could convince the boy to trust him? Was this just another ruse designed to achieve some as-yet unperceived objective? Did it seem plausible because he wanted to believe it? Did it even matter? He hated the way that he always felt the need to second-guess his own evaluation of any situation that involved Irina. He knew that he had already begun to think he was making progress with Sark. He didn't want to have to re-examine everything he believed up to this point.
"I do want to see him again," Irina said softly. "Regardless of how he feels about me, I am his mother and just once I'd like to stand in the same room with him when he knows that. I want to be able to look at him and see my son."
Jack found himself nodding in agreement. He knew exactly the sentiment she was feeling. It was the one that had prompted him to take that incriminating sheet of paper and press it against the glass all those months ago. He realized now what he had intended with that action. It hadn't been enough for him to see the boy and know who he was. He had wanted… he had needed the boy to look back at him with the same knowledge.
They stared at one another across the table.
"Someday," he said. "Maybe someday."
He was rewarded with a wry, weary smile that looked familiar for far too many reasons.
* * * *