"Ms. Derevko?"
Bringing the book she was reading down into her lap, Irina glanced at the direction of the greeting. A handsome young man with a chubby face waved, grinning as he nodded from the other side of the glass.
Puzzled, she nodded back. "Agent Weiss."
"Good morning."
Her mouth twitched, bemused at the ridiculously polite formalities. "Good morning."
"We'd like to take you out, if you don't mind." Her eyes flickered to the eight guards standing by, all wearing glass facemasks and carrying guns.
"And if I did?"
He blinked. "Well, uh..."
Shaking her head, Irina placed the book carefully beside her, wondering if it would be futile to try to mark her place. "I don't mind, Mr. Weiss. I was expecting it. Please, do come in."
"Uh... thank you..." Nodding his head, he waited until the guards were prepared before he and four others entered her cell.
Automatically, she adjusted her hands and feet in preparation to be cuffed.
Agent Weiss was a gentleman, she noted. He was careful with her, gentle in his moves so that the metal would not be too tight around her skin. He was almost absurdly careful with her bandaged arm.
"You're the one that shot me," she said suddenly.
He looked up, suddenly turning pink at the tips of his ears at the memory. "Uh... yeah. Wound healing okay?"
"Fine, thank you." She waited, ignoring the way the other officers exchanged glances as he carefully brought her to her feet. "And you were the one that led the raid into my house."
He stiffened slightly, face flushing even more crimson. "Yeah, that was me." Palm directed toward the opening, he motioned. "Let's go."
Irina took a step, before she thought better of it and turned back, regal in her posture, eyes suddenly warm. "I've been meaning to thank you for your dignity regarding the matter."
"Excuse me?"
"Allowing me to dress myself before you took me into custody," she explained.
Smile widening, she shrugged, laughing slightly. "The whole situation was
rather embarrassing, and you handled it wonderfully. Such... consideration
among agents is..." she paused, considering. "Rare," she finished.
She wasn't quite sure it was possible to get any darker shade of red
than what he was at that moment.
"Thank you," he said finally, ignoring the impatient huff and shrug from the other agents. "But to be fair, I had my reasons."
"And they were?'
"I respect your husband," he admitted. "I care about your daughter, and quite frankly, you scare the shit out of me."
She could not fault him for honesty. Nodded, she smiled. "Then if that is indeed the case, I respect you all the more."
"Thank you," he said again, more than likely unsure how to take that coming from her. "We should get going-"
"One more thing," she said quickly. A guard behind her moaned, another grumbled underneath his breath. "I apologize gentlemen, I'm aware of the lunch hour rapidly approaching, but Mr. Weiss... I believe that I can safely assume I will not be returning to this room?"
His open expression froze, and she detected a hard swallow bobbing its way down his throat.
"I think," he said after a moment. "That it is safe to assume that, yes."
She nodded, smiling tightly. "In that case, I must request a favor. The book I was reading. If you could give it to my daughter, I would be... grateful."
He stared at her a second longer than necessary, mouth pursed, indicating he was remembering something. "Sure."
"It's the Three Musketeers," she continued, answering his unspoken question.
It took a second to process, before Mr. Weiss understood. A bittersweet smile grew on his face. "Interesting choice."
She shrugged sheepishly. "I admit I find the characters, one in particular, rather fascinating." The response kept him immobile, as if for the first time, he found her to be a person. "We can go now," she prompted.
"Right, right." Taking her by the crook of the elbow, he motioned to the guards, leading her out of her glass cage.
"Mr. Weiss?"
"Yes, Ms. Derevko?"
Tossing her hair over her shoulder, her sincerity was unmistakable. "I'm grateful my daughter has a friend who cares for her so deeply."
--
"Can I offer you something? Tea? Coffee?"
Rubbing around her wrists, Irina focused on getting the circulation going in her skin.
"Tea will be fine, thank you."
Mr. Dixon nodded shortly, pushing back from the front of the desk and rounding the corner, directing his steel gaze to a young lady waiting in the doorway.
"Lemon all right?" he asked after a moment.
Irina's eyes narrowed, small smirk floating on her face. "Perfect."
"Lemon tea," he ordered to the young assistant, as if she hadn't been in the room and heard the entire conversation.
"Right away," she said immediately, moving out of his office and closing the door behind her.
Irina craned her neck, studying the closed door before turning back to find Dixon holding out a plate.
"Cookies? My daughter made them."
At the moment she was too bewildered to do anything but stare at them.
He shrugged. "I'll just set them here in case you change your mind." Placing the cookies down on the desk beside him, he gave her a grim nod. "I expect this must be slightly disorienting to you."
Her eyebrow arched further.
"Slightly," she replied dryly. "To be perfectly frank I expected an execution chair or at the very least the back of a black truck, Not..." she motioned to the cookies. "Dessert."
Dixon, director of the CIA, uncrossed his arms, moving around his desk to the chair on the other side.
"To be perfectly frank right back," he answered, settling into his large plush leather seat, "So did I. Something's come up."
Eyes narrowing in open confusion, Irina said nothing. Crossing legs and arms, she waited for his explanation.
"Early this morning we received a message of sorts from a group I assume you're familiar with, The Covenant." Tossing a folder across the desk, he motioned for her to pick it up. Her blank stare was met with a nod. "Go on."
Sighing loudly, she took it, opening it up. The first item was an 8' by 10' photo of a young, happy looking man.
"That's our tech, Marshall. He's a nice guy, with many, many social problems. He's just had a child, a little girl."
Irina's mouth tightened. "I assume this has a point."
He nodded, face drawn. "Earlier we received a message from Mr. Sark, who informed us that he has Agent Marshall in his possession and will not hesitate to take his life should we not agree to trade your release, for his."
The folder fell from her fingers, mouth opening in surprise.
"Mr. Marshall holds significant value to us, but we have been 'advised' by the NSC not to negotiate with the Covenant. They would like us to cut our losses and move on."
She glanced down at the photo of the young man. "Would you like my opinion?"
"If you're inclined to give it."
"The NSC is correct. You should not negotiate under any terms with them. They are capable of much more than you think." Her answer surprised him, but to his credit, he took it in stride, biting on the edge of a pencil with his teeth, considering the answer.
"If I give you to the NSC, they will execute you," he said frankly.
"I'm aware of that. But if you continue to release prisoners to them they will start believing it is the precedent, and as my daughter is an agent of yours, as is my husband when he's not incarcerated, I would rather they not start kidnapping at will." Dixon's eyes bore into hers.
"Interesting argument," he said finally.
Irina smiled. "There is no reason you should trust me," she said finally. "I'm very well aware of that. But you are aware of the circumstances of my capture as well as the reasons behind it. In this instance, my actions speak the truth. I will protect my daughter and my husband at all costs."
"Marshall has a daughter too," Dixon said pointedly.
"As do you," she clipped. He didn't respond. Taking a breath, she finally nodded. "I know where they are keeping him. I can tell you how to get in, how to rescue him, and get him out safely."
"Let it be formally known that the CIA has more than enough reason NOT to trust you, Ms. Derevko."
"Then send Sydney," she clipped. "You know as well as I that I would not send my daughter to her death."
Dixon pursed his lips. Dropping the pencil with a clatter on the notepad, he tangled his fingers together, speaking crisply. "Sydney Bristow and her team are ready for the extraction, pending your instructions to take place tonight. If it is successful, we will proceed with the following plan: Arvin Sloane has spun the circumstances of your capture to the Covenant. They believe you had taken Jack hostage and were torturing him for information regarding the whereabouts of the diamond when we caught up with you. What they will continue to believe, is that you are loyal to them. We will attempt the transport to the NSC as scheduled, but you will escape."
She quirked an eyebrow. "I will?"
Flickering his eyes to meet her surprised expression, he nodded shortly. "You will. We have delayed your transfer until tomorrow. After which you will partner with Mr. Sloane in continuing to infiltrate the Covenant, and provide us with intel."
Irina took a cookie, crumbling it distractedly in her fingertips as she considered what he was saying.
"You're recruiting me."
"Thanks to you, Ms. Derevko, I have incarcerated one of my best agents, AGAIN, and another swore she would abandon the Agency and join Sloane in a murder free for all if I did not do everything in my power to save your life." He settled back in his chair. "What I am proposing is dangerous, and it will most likely kill you. But it is the best I can do. I hate to admit it, Mrs. Bristow, but your daughter is as crazy as you are."
She almost smiled. He knew then, the weaknesses that had plagued her now placed her in a situation where the CIA considered her almost an asset.
Irina Derevko could be controlled by her weaknesses.
That was a dangerous thing.
Looking up, she dropped the cookie back on the plate. "I have one condition."
--
"Intel has instructed Sloane to leak to Sark that we will be transporting you by the deserted monastery at exactly 0800 hours. They should be by roughly ten minutes before, during which you will have already slipped out of your cuffs, and 'killed' those inside." Jack Bristow paused, eyebrow arching as he gave her a meaningful glare.
Irina bowed her head contritely, fighting the smirk on her face. "I understand. Make it look real, but don't have fun with it."
"Have fun with it, don't kill anyone," he corrected.
"Well now you are just being unreasonable." Given another patented Jack glare, she shook her head, nodding for him to continue, watching him pace around her cell.
"They should pick you up, take you with them. Assuming they bought it." Jack rubbed a hand over the top of his head, a nervous tick he had she couldn't believe she still remembered. Flipping through the papers in the file, he located what he was looking for. "You will be contacted by your handler with an ad in the personals section of the London Globe." Her chin came off her palm, eyes widening when he gave her a wicked smile. "Thought you might get a kick out of that."
"Yes," she replied dryly. "It's always lovely to get hit on by every man on the street when he sees you looking through the personals section of the London Globe."
"And of course you will contact them the same way."
"I'm curious," she said suddenly, swinging her leg like a small child, eyes focused thoughtfully on the ceiling. "What did the NSC have to say about all this?"
"Well, they weren't happy. Thankfully, however, we did have one member with ties to a US Senator who managed to smooth things over."
"Oh?"
"Agents Vaughn's wife was more than willing to overrule Kendall when it became apparent that her husband may or may not have attempted a break-in and rescue."
Her shoulders shook slightly as she chuckled, relaxing against the wall as he shrugged innocently. "Our daughter is smart," she admitted proudly.
"Too smart," he answered. "We're supposed to be protecting her and here she is, trying to save us."
"Yes," she said, drawing a finger through her hair. "There is that." Looking up, she cleared her throat, preferring to move the conversation away from Sydney, when a thought hit her. Irina considered, a slight skip in her heart coinciding with her statement, "Who will be my handler?"
Jack sighed, a disappointing shake of his head creating a bitter feeling inside of her, as he moved across the cell to sink down beside her. "It won't be me. I'm sorry. They don't quite trust us together yet."
It made perfect sense.
She gave a mechanic nod, reaching for his hand, tangling the fingers together, holding them tight. Covering her smaller digits with his, Jack drew them into his lap, lightly tracing the skin with his fingertips before bringing them to his mouth, pressing a light kiss on her palm.
"And young Marshall?" she said curiously, breaking the silence. "How is he?"
"He's recovering. Sydney says we actually did him a favor. He's ecstatic."
She laughed incredulously. "Over getting kidnapped and tortured?"
Jack's smile was a little more reluctant, bemused as he explained, "Well, his near death experience has finally given the mother of his daughter the proper boost to 'think about marriage'. He's calling the caterer as we speak."
The image was enough to bring out another peal of laughter, before she fell silent once more, watching as he caressed her digits, focused on sliding his fingers alongside hers, gentle and deliberate.
"You're worried about me."
"Yes," he said automatically.
"Don't be," she said gently, using her free hand to finger the curls above his ear, fondly scratching across his scalp with a soft rake of her nails. "I'll be fine."
"You'll be alone," he said gruffly.
He was an absurdly handsome man. Regal and imposing, dominating and proud. There were so many faults to him, but for some reason, putting them all together achieved something extraordinary, amazing - as if there was never another person in this world who could be exactly like him.
And her child, her child was from HIM.
"Not really," she answered. "I would know. I was alone for twenty years."
--