It wasn't just that she was beautiful; she was, as was once so aptly put,
intoxicating. Her name had changed, her demeanor just enough, but it was
her eyes that always remained the same. Irina had always had trouble with
them. It seemed quite ironic that her breathtakingly piercing eyes, were
the one thing she couldn't seem to hide, though she wanted to desperately.
Whatever alias she assumed, whatever lie she lived, the spirit in her eyes
was undeniable, and almost impossible to disguise.
It was her eyes that he'd first seen. Piercing brown eyes, searching for something. She saw him, and stared for a moment before averting her gaze. She blushed slightly at Jack's continued stare. It took him a moment to shake his trance. She looked up at him again, discreetly, still smiling sweetly. She looked away quickly, embarrassed. Jack took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. He watched her for a few moments longer. Her brown hair skirted her shoulders beautifully. Her walk was confident, but not over imposing. Her seductively innocent smile sent a chill through his body.
This, of course, had all been planned. It wasn't an accident that she'd just so happened to be buying a paper when he was. Or that they "ran into each other" often enough for Jack to ask her out.
Jack sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes. The TV was silently flashing images on the screen, casting a strange array of light into the small living room. As his eyes adjusted Jack glanced to the clock, realizing how long he'd been lying there. The 11 o'clock news had become a habit over the year. Though he despised the flakey anchors, and truly didn't care what was happing in the godforsaken city of LA, he found that the news acted as a sedative, and created a routine to fall asleep to. Hell, there had to be something normal in his life, nothing else was.
The fuzzy memory of his dream quickly came back to him as he turned off the TV. Her eyes, her smile, their first encounter, their first date. Jack rubbed his eyes again trying to physically wipe the images away. He looked down at the nights carnage spread out on the coffee table. Three empty Chinese food boxes, a few beers, and several untouched case files. Tonight had been different. Most nights he would have spent pouring over his current cases, instead he'd forgone all of that, and poured himself a cold one, or four.
Tossing the empties in the garbage, Jack hit the lights and made his way into the bedroom of his three room apartment. He often pondered why he had opted for the three bedrooms, over a simple one bedroom. Maybe there was part of them that hoped that one day there would be people to fill the rooms. At the moment that proposition seemed beyond doubtful.
The lights flicked on in his spacious bedroom. Sparsely decorated but homey for a bachelor. The vaulted ceiling and array of windows gave a very metropolitan feel to the room, and the specific choice art screamed Jack Bristow. It wasn't long before the lights were out once again, and Jack lay in bed, trying desperately to focus on that very pricy art, instead of her.
She was always on his mind. It was just that this day held much more meaning, than any ordinary other. He'd gone over, and over it in his mind, countless times. The deception, his naivety. At one point he'd had to even forgive himself. It wasn't that he was self-deprecating. It was just that she was so good at what she did. There was no possible way that Jack could have seen it coming. So he'd gone on. Shifting all of the guilt and blame he held inside himself, on to her. It was her fault, it was her mistake.
And he knew she knew it. He had gained an understanding of her guilt. He couldn't say he sympathized. But he could help but empathize. For so many years he had blamed himself for letting her deceive him, for allowing all of it to happen. He should have seen it coming. But it took a very long time before he realized that she was simply a master of deception, the best, bar none. He knew what it was like to feel the guilt of the matter. He had lived with his own blame, with his own anguish. It shocked him instantly, the moment he saw that same anguish in her.
It was yet another thing he hadn't seen coming. He barely believed it, but it was there. The same guilt, same all punishing sorrow. And for a reason that was completely beyond him, he felt connected to it. As if some part of him, without his knowing, had acknowledged that Irina Derevko was suffering exactly as he was.
But it was so different, when thought through logically. If Irina was a master at deception, than Jack was a master of logic; and this 'empathy' wasn't logical. If it was anything it was irrational, stupid at best. The whole reason for his pain, the bane of his existence was this woman. She'd destroyed his life, his daughter's life, and the lives of countless families throughout the world. She deceived, killed, stolen, and worst of all betrayed. She was the enemy; and it killed him that he loved her so.
It was her eyes that he'd first seen. Piercing brown eyes, searching for something. She saw him, and stared for a moment before averting her gaze. She blushed slightly at Jack's continued stare. It took him a moment to shake his trance. She looked up at him again, discreetly, still smiling sweetly. She looked away quickly, embarrassed. Jack took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. He watched her for a few moments longer. Her brown hair skirted her shoulders beautifully. Her walk was confident, but not over imposing. Her seductively innocent smile sent a chill through his body.
This, of course, had all been planned. It wasn't an accident that she'd just so happened to be buying a paper when he was. Or that they "ran into each other" often enough for Jack to ask her out.
Jack sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes. The TV was silently flashing images on the screen, casting a strange array of light into the small living room. As his eyes adjusted Jack glanced to the clock, realizing how long he'd been lying there. The 11 o'clock news had become a habit over the year. Though he despised the flakey anchors, and truly didn't care what was happing in the godforsaken city of LA, he found that the news acted as a sedative, and created a routine to fall asleep to. Hell, there had to be something normal in his life, nothing else was.
The fuzzy memory of his dream quickly came back to him as he turned off the TV. Her eyes, her smile, their first encounter, their first date. Jack rubbed his eyes again trying to physically wipe the images away. He looked down at the nights carnage spread out on the coffee table. Three empty Chinese food boxes, a few beers, and several untouched case files. Tonight had been different. Most nights he would have spent pouring over his current cases, instead he'd forgone all of that, and poured himself a cold one, or four.
Tossing the empties in the garbage, Jack hit the lights and made his way into the bedroom of his three room apartment. He often pondered why he had opted for the three bedrooms, over a simple one bedroom. Maybe there was part of them that hoped that one day there would be people to fill the rooms. At the moment that proposition seemed beyond doubtful.
The lights flicked on in his spacious bedroom. Sparsely decorated but homey for a bachelor. The vaulted ceiling and array of windows gave a very metropolitan feel to the room, and the specific choice art screamed Jack Bristow. It wasn't long before the lights were out once again, and Jack lay in bed, trying desperately to focus on that very pricy art, instead of her.
She was always on his mind. It was just that this day held much more meaning, than any ordinary other. He'd gone over, and over it in his mind, countless times. The deception, his naivety. At one point he'd had to even forgive himself. It wasn't that he was self-deprecating. It was just that she was so good at what she did. There was no possible way that Jack could have seen it coming. So he'd gone on. Shifting all of the guilt and blame he held inside himself, on to her. It was her fault, it was her mistake.
And he knew she knew it. He had gained an understanding of her guilt. He couldn't say he sympathized. But he could help but empathize. For so many years he had blamed himself for letting her deceive him, for allowing all of it to happen. He should have seen it coming. But it took a very long time before he realized that she was simply a master of deception, the best, bar none. He knew what it was like to feel the guilt of the matter. He had lived with his own blame, with his own anguish. It shocked him instantly, the moment he saw that same anguish in her.
It was yet another thing he hadn't seen coming. He barely believed it, but it was there. The same guilt, same all punishing sorrow. And for a reason that was completely beyond him, he felt connected to it. As if some part of him, without his knowing, had acknowledged that Irina Derevko was suffering exactly as he was.
But it was so different, when thought through logically. If Irina was a master at deception, than Jack was a master of logic; and this 'empathy' wasn't logical. If it was anything it was irrational, stupid at best. The whole reason for his pain, the bane of his existence was this woman. She'd destroyed his life, his daughter's life, and the lives of countless families throughout the world. She deceived, killed, stolen, and worst of all betrayed. She was the enemy; and it killed him that he loved her so.