Chapter Five

Jack was not prone to outwardly showing signs of emotion; he kept his feelings bottled up inside, a mask perfectly set to allow no one, no even his daughter, to see what he was thinking at any given time. The carefulness served him well when he first saw Irina again, in the flesh, after almost thirty years. He had betrayed nothing about what he felt during those first few minutes. He became angry sometimes, fiercely protective of Sydney when she was, or he believed her to be, in danger. But other than that he just did not have outbursts of sudden emotion. When he first heard that Irina has turned herself into the CIA he had been concerned and curious, wondering what she was up to, suspicious certainly but then everyone had felt that, anger too, that she tried to worm her way back into the lives of those that she had so long ago betrayed and left. He had sworn to himself that never again would he get close enough to her; mentally, physically, emotionally, it was the reason he had not visited her at first for such a long time during her incarceration. But that had changed over time; numerous times he had cursed that fact.

But the carefully guarded CIA Agent could not stop the sharp intake of breath at his daughters words, his throat felt dry and constricted then and an uncomfortable and tension filled silence ensued. At times he had pondered on what he would way, wondered what he would feel should he hear the words, or the like "Irina Derevko is dead," relief, Jack believed he would feel. How wrong he was with that assumption. But in his musings about how she might meet her end: by his hand? Going out in a blaze of glory? That his wife, because even after she had returned he had still not taken the steps to sever that tie, his daughter would kill her - he had not considered that. And now that he had heard it he felt a sudden onslaught of anguish. Disbelief and dread crept inside. A clamping heaviness settled over his heart and it felt, as Sydney spoke those tragic words, that it had ceased it rhythmic beat, though that was not possible. He refused to believe what his brain was making sense of. Sydney had killed her mother, his wife, Irina had been killed by her daughter -- no matter how that sentence was phrased in his mind it still did not make sense; not that it should. He realised with a pang that Irina being dead would never had sounded right, not matter how it happened or by whom.

Jack had been asleep when Sydney called, he had crashed on the couch intending on sleeping only a couple of hours before joining Vaughn at the airport. Dixon had updated him on what had happened and ordered Jack rest up before doing anything to help. It was believed that if Peter did not speak to Vaughn, Jack would be able to drag a bit of information out of him.

His sleep-deprived mind had ensured he reacted to Sydney's news in such a way that his emotions were unchecked. "That..." he breathed deeply, slowly, calmly, but his tone told loud and clear his shock, grief and disbelief. His voice choked while the analytical part of his fast acting mind made him think a reasonable explanation was within arms reach. An explanation of the sort where it would be quickly found out that this was a terrible mistake "Where...how did you learn this?" It was not possible just then, even for him, to sound in a situation such as this, detached. How could he become detached in a situation that directly impacted him in such a tremendous way? Training, quite possibly, should have kicked in to provide sufficient help but that would only be for an Agent hearing about the death of an enemy of his country. But that news immediately turned him into the husband grieving the loss of the woman he loved. Again.

He had asked himself that sometimes: Was it love? He remembered vividly that once that is what it had been. Later on he reasoned, after seeing her again, that he had become simple desire. Desire for the unattainable. Only now did he realise the truth and it hammered home with a force that rivaled a storm that capsizes a great and strong ship on a turbulent ocean. "Better to have loved a lost than never to have loved at all..." Jack thought then, with a mirthless laugh, that that quote should be extended to more adequately suit Irina and him. "Better to have loved and lost...and lost and loved the same woman once again, than never to have loved at all" perhaps.

Sydney broke through his musings to answer his question. She was pacing her own room, trying to clear her head and compose herself. "I...I was asleep and, mom was the person I fought at the house...I was Julia Thorne and...we fought and, I shot her!" she spoke fast; not wanting any interruptions. "The house...it was destroyed, I set charges..." she fell silent and slid to the carpeted floor with her back against the bed with covers strewn messily across it. She couldn't stand this.

Though he fought against it Jack could not override the shock or the pain. When he next spoke he sounded completely void of emotion. "I'm coming over...I'll, stay where you are" in a state akin to being in a daze he found his coat, having fallen into his light slumber fully clothed, and laid his hand upon the door to open it when an all to familiar bleeping sounded from the still switched on laptop that occupied the coffee table situated in front of the couch he had just left. He knew who it was, Irina -- no, he pushed that thought quickly away. It was not Irina, had it ever been? Whoever was calling was Mr. Anonymous. Jack's mind made quick work of what had happened. Irina had somehow become an enemy of the Covenant, who in turn had used Julia; their newest operative, to seek out and kill her. It was quite poetic. Somehow they had acquired the means to contact Jack in the way that he and Irina had communicated. Someone had taken her place and he had been none the wiser. Jack felt like a fool. Jack did not like to be made a fool out of; especially by the enemy. A deep fury reserved only for a few people began to grow, he already hated the Covenant and now they would face the full power of his wrath. They would pay, he would make sure of that. His anger took control of his almost overwhelming sorrow; he resisted the urge to throw the laptop and instead returned to the couch where he sat on the edge and stared at the screen, his fingers poised above the keys.

They had tricked him and he would return the favour. No, more than that, he would trap them and make them sorry for ever having the audacity to mess with his family. Five minutes later and Jack stepped into the cool night air. It had all been set up. And now he had to console his daughter. How could he face her?