The sun beat down mercilessly, the glare almost blinding him. Buried up to his neck in the soft sand, Jack struggled frantically but was unable to move. He could hear the thunder of the waves behind him, and felt a cold chill on the back of his neck as a finger of one of the waves stretched up and touched him. In front of him, Sloane conscientiously tamped down the last of the sand before standing up satisfied.
"Don't. leave. me. here." It came out as a plea, and Jack silently cursed himself for showing weakness.
Sloane brushed the sand off his hands, and smiled smugly. Raising his hand to shade his eyes, he studied the ocean. "Tide's coming in pretty fast," he said off-handedly. A larger wave hit the back of Jack's head. Sloane smirked as water dripped down Jack's face. "The fun's in the anticipation, don't you think, Jack? I mean, we both know how this will end. We just don't know when, exactly." With a manic laugh, Sloane turned on his heel and headed up the beach, out of sight.
Jack desperately tried to jerk his body free from the weight of the sand, but it was no use. She'll come, he told himself, swallowing his fear. Larger waves crashed over his head and receded. Jack shook his head to clear the water out of his eyes, trying to ignore the roar behind him as the waves inexorably marched closer and closer. The high tide mark was a good 20 feet beyond him. He would be covered in another couple of minutes. Where was she?
A movement caught the corner of his eye, far down the beach. A piece of paper? A bird? He craned his neck to see and was rewarded with a face full of water as another wave crashed on top of him. Ominously, the wave did not recede. The water level was now half way up his neck. Stifling his panic, he continued to focus on the spot in the distance. It was moving closer. It was running. It was
"Irina!" he yelled. "Here!"
He coughed as he swallowed a mouthful of seawater. Swiveling his head again, he could see she was running faster. The water was up to his chin now – it would be close. He tilted his head upwards, struggling to breathe. He could no longer turn to watch her. Would she come? In time?
Jack sat bolt upright on the sofa, covered in sweat, breath coming in ragged gasps. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. Where the hell was he? He peered around in the darkness, trying to get oriented. Not on a beach. Not in a cell. He was. . . home?
Memory flooded back. He *was* home, he thought in relief. Why had he had that damned nightmare again? He laughed shakily, wiping his hand across his forehead. His subconscious must not have gotten the newsflash yet.
He headed to the kitchen and poured a glass of scotch, tossing it back in one swallow. Wouldn't Barnett have a field day interpreting that dream, he thought wryly. After experiencing it every night for the last year, he could describe it in infinitesimal detail. Although, of course he wouldn't.
He made his way to the window and looked out into the dark of the night, shadowed by clouds that choked the moon. Where was she? he wondered. Would she come?
**
"Jack, I'm here," she whispered.
"Irina." Jack breathed her name out with a sigh and turned towards her. "You came."
She lay her hand against his face and he closed his eyes for a moment, jaw working, as if overwhelmed by her touch. Wordlessly, he gently turned her hand with his own and brushed her palm with his lips.
"Are you. . . alright?" The words were so inadequate. She could see the shadows still in his eyes, the weariness from the struggle. Rage welled up within her, and just as quickly faded away. He did not need her rage now.
"I will be," he said softly, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in her hair. She felt him inhale deeply, as if he could breathe in her strength to revive his soul.
And she trembled at the gift he was giving her. To let her see the man behind the curtain. To let her share the loneliness, the deadening of the spirit, the humiliations of the past year. For the greatest gift he had to give was…his trust.
Taking him by the hand, she drew him to the bed. "Tell me."
Half a world away, Irina sat up with a stifled sob. Tugging her wool blanket from her bed, she huddled by the window and watched as the dawn crept up the mountainside, wrestling with the fog that enshrouded her chalet. How was he? she wondered. And who would be there for him when she didn't come?