"I bought those tshirts for him! I did! For me! For my viewing pleasure. I went to Walmart and stood in line and bought those tshirts with my own money---"

"And women around the world thank you for that purchasing decision. Myself included." Katya sighed happily. "I know I've downloaded that picture of him in that tshirt as a screensaver on my computer. How about you?"

"You've WHAAT?" Irina heard herself yell. Keep control, she told herself, keep in control. She's just pushing your buttons. You are in control. Control.

"Wow," Jack said, looking down modestly. He only hoped Irina did not see the laughter in his eyes before he looked down. "I'm...flattered."

"You're not flattered! You're dead! Dead!" Irina said, turning to her husband and grabbing him by the shoulder holster. Then she stopped and sighed. So much for control. And Jack did not like it when you touched his-- -

"Irina, honey, don't touch my gun unless you intend to use it," Jack warned, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back against her again.

"She saw you in one of those tshirts?" Irina asked more calmly. She was not showing herself to best advantage in front of Jack by flying off the handle at every comment her sister made.

"Would you rather I had not worn a tshirt at all?" Jack asked. Then cocked his head. Had he just heard something?

Irina frowned. "What was that sound?"

Katya listened as well. "Oh, it's the sound of women fainting everywhere."

"Oh." Irina shrugged while Jack looked confused. "Well, I'm not worried about women who can see him. It's women who can touch him that---"

"Hmm. I don't blame you. And given how intimately I touched him---"

"Irina...." Jack whispered, looking over his shoulder. "It's not what you--- "

"Define an intimate touch," Irina said. Calmly. She was proud of herself. She had said it calmly.

"Well, when he lifted his tshirt so I could touch his skin---"

"She touched your SKIN?!" Irina exclaimed. "You LIFTED your tshirt? Of your own free will?" This was far worse than she had expected.

Jack covered his ear and winced. He was going to be hearing ringing in that ear for a while, he could tell. And it wasn't as though she'd yelled for a good reason. At the rate she was going, she was going to be hoarse by the time they made it to the bedroom. Or the couch would be fine. He wasn't picky. Getting less picky by the minute as a matter of fact. Give him a glass full of whiskey and he'd been even less picky. He looked up longingly at the bar. Then rethought his thought. Hmm. Maybe he didn't need a drink. Maybe that bar held other possibilities....

"Jack! I'm talking to you!" Irina said, pinching him.

"Oh, sorry, I was... unable to hear since you screamed in my ear. And let me assure you, that's not the kind of screaming I was anticipating hearing tonight ---"

"Jack!" Irina bit her lip to keep from laughing. She had seen his gaze measuring that bar. "How did my sister touch you intimately?"

"Well, as you said, Miss English Teacher, define intimate. Because I suppose, in some dictionaries, having her poke her latex-clad fingers into my liver looking for lacerations would be considered intimate."

"Oh. Just a knife wound. I thought it was something serious," Irina mumbled. "Sorry I screamed in your ear for something so inconsequential."

"See, you get all upset for no reason," Jack reminded her.

"Now, what's serious is this, Katya. WHY did you kiss my husband? For the last time?"

"It's your own fault, sister dear."

"How?"

"You've treated him like a fondue pot. The kind of gift you put away and forget about until the next party."

"Like a fondue pot?" Irina scoffed.

"Well... Hmm. A fondue pot is something you generally share with others, so if---"

"I don't think so!" Irina exclaimed.

"But...perhaps you're right. Perhaps he's not the fondue pot. Perhaps he's... the melted chocolate in the fondue pot." Her eyes went up and down Jack. "A very large block of chocolate, I'm thinking. Probably... inexhaustible. And what luck! The night is still young." Katya shrugged and pointed at her watch. "Much can happen. Lots of time for nibbling and eating and suc--"

"Nothing, nothing is going to happen with---" Jack began reassuringly as he felt Irina's hiss of breath against his shoulder. "You forget, she needs my permission to put her.... lipstick anywhere."

"Good! And don't you forget, Jack Bristow, that to put anything anywhere you need my permission..."

"Excuse me?" He asked, turning his head to glance at her. Someone was, he decided, a little too... sanguine about their constant absences. Truly how much was a man supposed to take? Cybersex left a man feeling cold, after all. Turning his head back to face Katya, he smiled and commented, "But speaking about permission, having seen you handle not one but two sharp instruments, perhaps you would not need my permission. Perhaps you would just ---"

"Take it?" Katya smiled slowly at her sister's blank stare of outrage directed at her husband this time. Then grinned as Irina began pounding on her husband's back before he reached back and snatched her hands and pulled them around his waist, where he held onto them tightly. "Is that how you prefer it? When the woman just takes it? That can be arranged---"

"Hmm." Jack winked at Katya. "I do like a woman who knows how to handle a knife."

"I know how to handle a knife! Quite well too!" Irina protested.

"True. But she handled two. Two.---"

"I bet you could handle two."

"That would be quite impressive. Or rather, it was, when you did it. With the knives." He smiled and said slowly, "Katya"

"Jack Bristow!" Irina yelled. "You are dead meat! Dead. Meat."

"Well, that would be a terrible waste. What was the line? Ah yes. A mind or... a man's meat is a terrible thing to waste?" She bit her lip as Irina's eyes blazed and she pushed against her husband, who just settled more firmly against her. "But perhaps, you've spent so much time apart that you've forgotten how to rouse---"

"Jack. Let me up!"

"Nope. My carpeting. My chair. My bar."

"I... promise." Irina said it grudgingly. "I promise I won't damage your house or any contents within."

"Including your sister?"

"I promise no blood."

Jack thought for a second. Then he shifted off of his wife and sat down on the couch, moved around trying to get comfortable. Sigh. It was more comfortable being on top of her. Well, perhaps that wasn't precisely true, it hadn't been more comfortable but it had certainly been... Hmm. He needed to think about other positions....

He saw her looking at him curiously as she asked, "Jack? Jack? Are you with us? Didn't you sleep last night or---"

"Humphf," Katya scoffed. "If that didn't sound like something a wife might ask---"

"I am his wife!" Irina said, preparing to stand up, then plopping back onto the couch without much grace when Jack grabbed her shirt and hauled her down next to him.

"Irina! The offer is still on the table." Jack began, then looking down at the pile of glass and metal that once was his coffee table, he shook his head. "Well, not on the table precisely, but..."

"I'll buy you a new one. I already said that."

Nodding at her he said, "I accept it. And the offer of none of your sister's blood and no more destruction of my house. But I'd like to add a proviso - none of my blood either."

"Why do you feel that's necessary?" Irina asked sharply.

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe because of the way you two fling glass around and-- -"

"No. That's not it. I know that look on your face, Jonathan Donahue Bristow!" She shook his shoulder. "That's the same look you had on your face when I confronted you about the passive transmitter---"

"But I thought you told me that you enjoyed what he did to insert that ---"

"That's NOT the point, Katya! I didn't know he'd done it---"

"Ah, yes. That was a good job." Jack sighed happily, as he stroked an index finger from the base of Irina's throat down over her chest. "In more ways than one, I must say. Honey, do you want to play that game later? The inser- -"

"Jack!" Irina slapped his hand away. "What did you do that I don't know about?"

"Why don't you take the bait from me? Just your sister?" Jack complained.

"Well, Jack, no one can push every button. Although I'd be willing, quite willing to let you try." Katya paused. "On me."

"He's not touching anyone's buttons but MINE!" Irina exclaimed.

"I do believe I'll accept as a good... character reference the fact that you apparently do know how to push the buttons you do push on my sister," Katya reminded him.

"Ah, true. Button, button, who's got the button?" Jack said in a sing-song voice as he trailed a hand up Irina's thigh.

"JACK!" Irina squealed, then giggled as she pushed his hand away. Jack was amusing. "I know this game too. You're still trying to distract me. By being silly." She sighed happily. Jack in one of these moods was so rare... It reminded her of when they were kids. She glared at her sister. She wanted him to herself. Therefore she needed to ditch the sister....Speaking of which, she had noticed a ditch on the way here that just might be the perfect size for her. That pipsqueak. She giggled again as Jack raised his eyebrows and wiggled his fingers at her.

"Well, does it work?" Jack asked, as he reached a hand toward Irina's chest. "There's another button. Or two."

Katya smiled behind her hand. "Just as a helpful hint, it looks like her shirt has six buttons, Jack."

"Mmm. I suppose. But only two that really matter. Right, Irina? I mean, it's been a awhile, a very long while. I might have forgotten. Refresh my memory..." Jack said with a grin, as he toyed with the top button on his wife's shirt.

"Refresh my memory, husband." Irina said with a smile of her own as she grabbed Jack's hand. "What did you do that you don't want me to know about?"

"Nothing---" Jack began.

Then he groaned as Katya said smugly, "What he neglected to tell you before was that I may have kissed him first, but he did kiss me back."

Well, s***. There went the notion of getting comfortable.

TBC