Part III
He looked down at her. He had noticed her shivering outside, but now she seemed calm again and in control. Her hair still wet from a recent shower, her face without a sign of make-up, she looked back at him and he couldn't quite grasp her expression. There was the familiar touch of superiority, the way she always made him feel like she was at least two steps ahead of him. But there was something else to it. Some kind of finality that hadn't been there before. She remained silent and when he lowered his gun another centimeter, targeting directly between her eyes she just closed them. Her face muscles tensed, but she showed no sign of resistance. He was taken aback. Sure, she had always reacted that way. Back then at CTU, in the car park, in the interrogation room. She had stated her argument and then just stared ahead, silently waiting for him to end it or someone else to stop him. And even in Visalia, on those stairs in the back of Faheen's store, she had played her last trump card, knowing he wouldn't shoot her from behind. She never struggled physically when there was no chance of success, she had never begged or pleaded. But she had other ways to resist, always being on alert, ready to take action, willing to wriggle herself out of the situation, to take any chance that might present itself. But he couldn't sense any of that now. Something was different, even compared to Visalia.
Seconds passed but they seemed to her like minutes. Why didn't he shoot? She wasn't particularly concerned about pain in general, she had dealt with her fair share of it. But the image of the bullet shattering her face filled her with horror, even though she told herself she wouldn't really have the time to feel anything. Her brain would be smashed before it had a chance to transmit and decode the information coming from her nerve tracts. Still that didn't really comfort her. As much as she had always been able to let her ratio steer and prevail over her emotions, she didn't succeed now. Her heartbeat quickened, her mind screaming out: I don't wanna die that way!
He observed her chest falling and rising heavier under her breath. Her features cramped and her head shifted slightly, revealing the fear that was washing over her. Not panic, just fear. Still he didn't feel the satisfaction he would have expected. Why wasn't she fighting?
"You don't have anything to offer, Nina?" he asked mockingly. "No bargaining? No deals? Nothing to sell?"
His sneering remark made her open her eyes and stare at him, her face a mask of fearful expectation and perplexity. She tried to read his mind like she had done countless times before, but maybe for the first time ever she couldn't. What was he up to? Instead she noticed realization on his face. He knew it. Looking down at her with a sneer, he saw her confusion and it satisfied him, more than her fear.
His smile intensified and the humiliation seemed more than she could take. Furiously she pulled her leg up, sweeping away his left knee and making him tumble down while she pushed herself away from him. Still on her back, propped up on her elbow and her hands and breathing heavily she glared at him.
"Come on, Jack. Get it done!" she yelled, her voice shaking with fear and anger.
He had rolled around and was lying on his right side now, the gun still in his hands, pointed at her. But the sneer was gone, his face marked by alert and the slightest note of surprise. Why didn't she go for the gun?
Why hadn't he pulled the trigger? Was his desire for revenge so intense that he wanted to prolong her suffering as much as possible? Was his hate so big that he needed to see her in humiliation and fear before he could finish her up? I'll make sure we'll have some quality time just the two of us. A shiver ran through her spine, exactly like the time when she had heard the words for the first time and thought about the implications.
"What are you waiting for? What the hell are you waiting for?" she screamed at him, anger getting the upper hand over her fear.
He couldn't help but just staring back at her, trying not to show his puzzlement. Why wasn't she fighting back? Why wasn't she trying to play him, manipulate him, offer him anything just to save her skin? That was what she always did - putting herself into a position where he couldn't lay a hand on her. And even if there was nothing to bargain about anymore, she wouldn't just give up.
Carefully he got back on his feet, straightening up, constantly aiming at her. He was convinced that she hadn't had any useful information before she had escaped from CTU. But she had been aware that pretending to have such information was her only chance to evade his revenge - regardless of the implications. Torture. It struck him as ironic. They had tortured her to get information she never had. They had thought they could break her while she had been in control all along. Even in her lowest moment, under the humiliation of being brought back to CTU, facing prison again or worse, his revenge, she had been playing them, giving them the satisfaction of torturing her. Because it was in her interest. That was how far she was willing to go. So why didn't she try anything now?
"What do you want, Jack?" she tried again, highly irritated by his silence. Maybe he wanted her to plead with him. Beg for her life. She surely wouldn't get him that last satisfaction! He could mock her, humiliate her and he could and doubtlessly would kill her - but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg!
His eyes wandered off her face for a split second and down her body but returned quickly to meet hers again. Yeah, what did he want? What was irritating him so much? She simply didn't have anything to offer anymore. There was nothing she could do to stop him from killing her and she knew it. So why was he hesitating now?
"The truth, Nina," he finally answered.
She stared at him in disbelief. "The truth about what, Jack?" she asked, her voice filled with reluctance, not sure where this was heading.
"About everything. For once in your life I want you to tell the truth."
She kept her incredulous stare up for a while longer and then it was her turn to break into a mocking, sneering smile. She closed her eyes and bent her head back, laughing soundlessly.
"What's so funny?" Jack growled.
"I don't know, Jack," she answered, looking up to the wooden ceiling above her. She sighed. "So what, we're gonna sit down and have a little chat before you put a bullet in my head. Is that what you had in mind?"
"If you need to sit, sit," he answered, his voice still low but somewhat calmer.
She lifted her head and glanced at him skeptically. He looked at her steadily, that same serene expression on his face she had noticed earlier. He seemed serious about this. Slowly she pushed herself a little bit further away from him and came into a sitting position. Her instincts kicked back in and told her not to do anything that could provoke him. She collected herself from the floor and got up on her feet. Giving him another glimpse she took a step towards the couch, but he stopped her.
"Not the couch," he said and pointed to the kitchen bar.
She lowered her gaze for a moment, as if trying to hide her amused face expression. Not like she had any weapons hidden under the cushions.
He backed up to keep a safe distance as she walked over and seated herself on one of the bar stools. He laid his hand on the other one, pulling it away into the middle of the room to avoid having the table between them. Leaving enough space he took a seat as well, lowering his gun and supporting his hand on his hipbone. She placed her hands on her thighs and raised her eyes again, looking at him coolly.
"So what do you wanna know, Jack?" she asked condescendingly, trying to maintain her superiority.
"Why, Nina? Why did you do it?" he replied, ignoring her provocation.
"Because it paid well," she remarked dismissively.
"Cut the crap, Nina. I said I want the truth."
She looked at him in surprise, bending her head slightly. Suddenly he cared? "I don't have a cause, Jack. I don't believe in anything," she replied mockingly. Weren't those your words?
She gave him a challenging look but he remained silent, sustaining her gaze. She reconsidered. "Alright," she said, suddenly feeling the tiredness again that enclosed her, pressing heavily on her shoulders, sneaking up into her spine and her limbs. "I just couldn't do it anymore."
"Couldn't do what anymore?"
"Pretending to believe in what I was doing. Telling myself I was on the good side, doing the right thing," she explained contemptuously.
"What was so wrong about it?"
"Let's not turn this into a philosophical debate," she repelled. "Serving your country, helping people, fighting evil...", she shook her head scornfully. "I know you still believe in all that crap, Jack. Well, I don't. I stopped somewhere along the way."
He scrutinized her face expression, trying to figure out if this was really her being honest with him. Her look was filled with contempt and she seemed suddenly tired and exhausted. Almost surrendered. For a second he was inclined to believe that he was witnessing a sign of vulnerability, a moment of honesty. But then he remembered.
The flight back from Visalia. He had let them bring her up to him to talk to her, and she had made him believe that she didn't know what to do to make Faheen talk, looking exactly like now. Weak, tired, almost surrendered. And then the heartbreaking plea, the appeal to his weakness. What are we gonna do, Jack? Only minutes later she had brought Faheen to telling her the location of the bomb, right before she had slashed his throat and watched him bleed to death in front of her.
He smiled cynically at the memory. If there was one thing he had learned it was never to fall for her games again.
"And what exactly was so much better about being a traitor?" he asked sneering.
She observed the change in his face expression and comprehended his line of thought. "I never said it was better," she explained, her face turning cool and determined again, wiping away all traces of vulnerability. "But it was far more challenging than my desk job at CTU and as I said: the payment was much better."