Chapter 24
Jack sat in the kitchen, watching his glass as he swirled the liquid. He'd finished his second double scotch and had poured the third without hesitation, and he was still trying to work up the fortitude to go upstairs.
Laura. He wanted so badly to go to his wife, the woman he had fallen in love with, his best friend and confidant, and let her comfort him. But she had never existed. There was a stranger upstairs with his wife's face, someone named Irina, the woman who had created Laura and then destroyed her. And yet he would have to go up there and share a bed with her. He would like to stay downstairs and sleep on the couch, but that would lead to questions from Sydney if she found him there in the morning.
He drank down the rest of the scotch and started to go pour more, but staggered slightly as he approached the liquor cabinet. He turned and put the glass in the sink instead, the last vestiges of clear thought telling him that he was already rather drunk; if he drank any more he would lose control. Well, might as well not put it off any longer, he thought; he took a deep breath and started upstairs.
***
Irina was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when she heard Jack come up the stairs, being about as quiet as a herd of elephants. Good thing Sydney was a heavy sleeper. She heard him open the bedroom door, come in, and then practically slam it shut. She finished brushing her teeth, then brushed her hair and braided it as she listened to his movements through the partially open bedroom door.
Finished, she got her crutches from where they had been leaning against the wall and swung herself into the bedroom to see Jack sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from her, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking. She stood there for a moment, longing to go to him but unsure of whether he would accept her help. Finally she decided that it wouldn't hurt to try; she maneuvered herself over and sat beside him. After laying the crutches on the floor, she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. At first he didn't move, and she thought that it was a good sign that he didn't pull away.
Without warning, he suddenly turned, grabbed her shoulders, and pushed her down to the bed, then swung one leg over so that he was straddling her hips. She looked up at him to see that his eyes, though filled with tears, also held anger. She had instinctively grabbed his arms as he pushed her down, but now she let go and dropped her arms to her sides, then forced her body to relax. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. Finally, she whispered, "Jack, if you need to hurt me, I understand."
He looked at her for a moment more, then sighed and rolled off of her. He stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at her; she still hadn't moved. "It won't help," he said in a choked voice. "It won't bring her back."
Irina was confused. She sat up. "Bring who back?"
His face darkened with anger. "My wife, you b*tch!" He drew back his hand and slapped her across the face. Then he turned pale and looked at his hand as if he had never seen it before.
She suddenly understood. Whenever something had gone wrong on one of his missions, whenever one of his colleagues had died senselessly or they had lost some key item or piece of information, he had come to her for comfort, and now he felt that his best source of comfort was gone. She stood and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his. "I am your wife, Jack," she whispered into his ear. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part. I meant those words with all my heart the first time I said them, and I still mean them now."
He pulled away and looked at her with a confused expression. "You.I." he stammered. He put his hands up and rubbed his forehead. Then he turned, walked into the bathroom, and closed the door. Irina sat back down on the bed and put her head in her hands. Somehow, they would get through this. She would just have to keep believing that.
Jack sat in the kitchen, watching his glass as he swirled the liquid. He'd finished his second double scotch and had poured the third without hesitation, and he was still trying to work up the fortitude to go upstairs.
Laura. He wanted so badly to go to his wife, the woman he had fallen in love with, his best friend and confidant, and let her comfort him. But she had never existed. There was a stranger upstairs with his wife's face, someone named Irina, the woman who had created Laura and then destroyed her. And yet he would have to go up there and share a bed with her. He would like to stay downstairs and sleep on the couch, but that would lead to questions from Sydney if she found him there in the morning.
He drank down the rest of the scotch and started to go pour more, but staggered slightly as he approached the liquor cabinet. He turned and put the glass in the sink instead, the last vestiges of clear thought telling him that he was already rather drunk; if he drank any more he would lose control. Well, might as well not put it off any longer, he thought; he took a deep breath and started upstairs.
***
Irina was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when she heard Jack come up the stairs, being about as quiet as a herd of elephants. Good thing Sydney was a heavy sleeper. She heard him open the bedroom door, come in, and then practically slam it shut. She finished brushing her teeth, then brushed her hair and braided it as she listened to his movements through the partially open bedroom door.
Finished, she got her crutches from where they had been leaning against the wall and swung herself into the bedroom to see Jack sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from her, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking. She stood there for a moment, longing to go to him but unsure of whether he would accept her help. Finally she decided that it wouldn't hurt to try; she maneuvered herself over and sat beside him. After laying the crutches on the floor, she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. At first he didn't move, and she thought that it was a good sign that he didn't pull away.
Without warning, he suddenly turned, grabbed her shoulders, and pushed her down to the bed, then swung one leg over so that he was straddling her hips. She looked up at him to see that his eyes, though filled with tears, also held anger. She had instinctively grabbed his arms as he pushed her down, but now she let go and dropped her arms to her sides, then forced her body to relax. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. Finally, she whispered, "Jack, if you need to hurt me, I understand."
He looked at her for a moment more, then sighed and rolled off of her. He stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at her; she still hadn't moved. "It won't help," he said in a choked voice. "It won't bring her back."
Irina was confused. She sat up. "Bring who back?"
His face darkened with anger. "My wife, you b*tch!" He drew back his hand and slapped her across the face. Then he turned pale and looked at his hand as if he had never seen it before.
She suddenly understood. Whenever something had gone wrong on one of his missions, whenever one of his colleagues had died senselessly or they had lost some key item or piece of information, he had come to her for comfort, and now he felt that his best source of comfort was gone. She stood and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his. "I am your wife, Jack," she whispered into his ear. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part. I meant those words with all my heart the first time I said them, and I still mean them now."
He pulled away and looked at her with a confused expression. "You.I." he stammered. He put his hands up and rubbed his forehead. Then he turned, walked into the bathroom, and closed the door. Irina sat back down on the bed and put her head in her hands. Somehow, they would get through this. She would just have to keep believing that.
