Four months later…
d2: + 2 years, 8 months
d3: − 4 months
Part XVI: Illusions
"Still nothing?"
"Nothing," he confirmed her apprehensions. "I've checked everything twice. Nada."
Nina gritted her teeth and said nothing, but frustration was gnawing at her. She didn't like this one bit and she knew it was going to start making her nervous.
She put her elbows up on the desk, folded her hands and ran her thumbs over her chin, pondering her options. There weren't too many.
"There is another way," the voice suggested through the speaker, and she frowned, casting a skeptical, almost disapproving glance at the telephone.
"If you want to be sure."
"I know," she replied coldly, smothering a sigh, and put her hands back on the table, her gaze absent-mindedly traveling through the room. I know. It was one of her options. Not one she wanted to resort to though, not unless she absolutely had to.
"I'll get back to you," she stated before aborting the call and disabling the scrambler. Leaning back in her chair then, and staring at the map on her computer screen, she sighed to herself.
"Where are you, Jack?"
There was still no sign of him, and the fact that his tracks had been covered so thoroughly was as comforting as it was concerning because it could only mean that he was working undercover. Deep undercover. Maybe he had even gone dark, but he was definitely up to something, probably once again trying to save the world. Or at least his country. If he had just taken off on his own, CTU or Division would have reacted. If he had really disappeared, someone would have started looking for him. And if he was dead – well, either way she would have found out by now. An undercover job was the only explanation, and considering how long he had been out of sight it had to be something big.
She played with the keypad of her laptop, tempted to try and hack into the CTU server. She knew she could do it, the problem wasn't to get in. Not for her anyway. The problem was to get out again without being detected, and that risk was just a little too high to take a chance. Not when she already knew she probably wouldn't find anything anyway.
Instead she tried to brainstorm, quarrying her memory for eligible targets. What terrorist group could you be infiltrating, Jack? What fish is big enough to assign someone with your skills and in your position. He wasn't director of CTU anymore, but according to her information there had been some rearrangements at CTU and Jack was running his own show now as head of field ops. Not a big surprise actually. He had always been more of a field agent than a bureaucrat. She was just a bit stunned that he was really still with CTU. After everything that had happened…
She snapped out of the thought before it could take her any further.
What else was he supposed to do anyway? CTU, the field, serving his country – it was his life. Would be as long as he was breathing. The only thing that was conflicting with his insane will to sacrifice everything for the right course was his longing for revenge. Which was why she was uncomfortable with not knowing where he was, especially if no one else knew either. Cause as much as the job should keep him focused on something else, and as much as it should make her feel safe, the fact that no one was monitoring his actions put her in danger. If he had really gone dark and was without any supervision, what would keep him from taking care of some private business if he had some spare time on his hands? She had never been a field agent herself, but after seven years of working with them, she knew the drill. Despite all the debriefings and the reports, there was always a lot more that went down and that no one accounted for. And even though someone would eventually find out - since her death would arouse some attention - what did Jack have to lose? He had always gotten away with a slap on the hand, and she doubted anyone would really care to prosecute him for killing a traitor. Plus, Jack would be smart enough not to leave any evidence behind. Otherwise he would have killed her back then, after she had given them her information, when he hadn't needed her anymore. The only reason why he hadn't put a bullet into her head right there and then was probably that he knew there would be a better chance. And now they were both waiting for that chance. Jack to take it, and she to foil it.
There is another way, the words echoed in her mind.
Sure, she had thought of it herself. But it involved her employer, and it would raise a hell of a lot of attention. Attention she didn't need. On the other hand… Her employer had the best contacts at his disposal, including key players in the international and domestic terrorist networks. If word got out that Jack was a federal agent who was trying to infiltrate one of those organizations there was a good chance his cover would be blown. And she wouldn't have to worry about him anymore.
She sighed. No. Setting him up to get killed had never worked before, and she would expose herself. There was a good reason why she hadn't mentioned the threat Jack posed to her employer before, and it would be best to keep things that way. But no one has to know the information came from you, a part of her brain argued. If she arranged things right…and even Jack's luck had to end at some point. He was as mortal as everybody else…
No, she decided once and for all. She wouldn't do it.
But she had to find a way to deal with this. She was already starting to get nervous, whether she liked it or not. The constant need to look over her shoulder had taken its toll on her. Two and a half years, a little longer even – no surprise she was starting to feel the consequences.
Starting? She had started a long time ago. Recently it was just getting harder, and really getting to her. No wonder that either - everything that had happened those last eight months, the mess she had been, Nick…
She pushed the thought aside. Not now. She had to take care of something.
Darting a glance at her wristwatch, she leaned forward and sat up, starting to work the keypad. She had to contact Amador one more time before she left.
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The connecting flight was boarding according to schedule, and Nick leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and was asleep before the plane had even lifted off the ground. He dreamt, and although the dream felt pretty real, a part of him was aware that it was just a dream.
"I can help you," he whispered into her ear, and she turned around, staring at him incredulously. "So what are you suggesting? That we hook up?" "Why not?" he replied, and liked the shocked look on her face. "Is it really that absurd? Think about it: we want the same thing, and it was more or less the same thing that brought us here." "Is that so?" she sneered, propping her upper body up on her elbow. "What about me being a monster? What about you are nothing like me?" She gave him a challenging look, but he just smiled. "Yeah, well, contradictions attract. And nobody's perfect." She rolled her eyes. "You're drunk." "I know. But let's face it: you're the only good thing I got going for me. And that won't change when I'm sober." Again she stared at him, obviously not sure if she should laugh at him or be outraged. "You really have a problem with your ego. And I don't think this bed is big enough for the three of us." She wanted to get up, but he touched her arm and held her back. "What does my ego have to do with this? I simply think it would be best for both of us." "For both of us?" she echoed. "Yes," he confirmed. "I can help us both. We can help us both." "I know, I know," she interjected. "Fixing you by fixing me. But what if I don't wanna be fixed?" "But you do," he stated, knowing he was right. "You could never admit it to yourself or anyone, but you do." And she didn't even try to object, just glared at him for a second but changed tactics then. "Alright, what if I don't want you? Can your ego imagine that? Can you live with that?" But he just smiled at her, trying to stroke her hair although he knew she wouldn't let him. "I could live with that, but I don't think I have to. You know that I'm a nice guy and that you don't have to kill me, and I know that there's a part of you that is still human and that would actually regret the things you've done if there was a way for you to live with that." Now she wanted to object but had obviously trouble finding the words. Or maybe she didn't know where to start. "Admit it, we understand each other. We know how the other one ticks. Who else would you say qualifies for that?" "Yeah," she finally found her voice and the usual sneering intonation back, "we're a match made in heaven." "Indeed. And the fact that you slept with me twice tells me you find me mildly attractive." "Mildly attractive?" "At least." And when he kissed her, she didn't resist. Not too much anyway, and a moment later their bodies were tangled up in the bed sheets and each other, and he was just thinking that he should probably brush his teeth before proceeding with this.
Then the flight attendance woke him up. The meal was being served, and he quickly pulled the tray table down into his lap and ran a hand over his forehead. That one was new. Things hadn't exactly happened like that. Not quite, he thought, remembering how she had lain with her back to him while he had asked her to think about it, and how she had quickly gotten up then. And this time he hadn't held her back.
He wasn't particularly hungry, but he forced some of the food down anyway, hoping it would wake him up. The trays were collected, and for a while he managed to read his newspaper, but at some point tiredness overwhelmed him again.
He was home. It was summer, and he was in the garden outside his parents' house. Dressed up in a tux, he was striding over the lawn, surrounded by equally dressed up people. Some of them, he remembered, old friends of his parents, others friends of his, from school, college, even some people he'd worked with here and there, all over the country. And even while dreaming, a part of his mind realized the absurdity of all those people gathered at the same place. This place. "Hey there, kiddo," he heard a deep voice, and he turned around, and saw Davis. Standing in his parents' garden with a glass of whiskey in his hand, and the typical cigarette in his mouth. "Congratulations!" the older man said in his typical dry manner, raising his glass and emptying it in one gulp, then smiling and pointing at something behind Nick, who turned around and recognized his parents. His parents who hadn't aged one day, still looking the same he remembered them, the same they had looked the last time he had seen them alive. His father's arm around his mother's waist, they were standing on the porch, and he walked over to them. "Mum. Dad," he said, his voice weak and his eyes wet. But they just smiled at him, and he was about to reach out and touch them, as if to make sure they were really there, when he suddenly heard a loud bang behind him. He spun around and caught sight of Nina. The gun in her hand still smoking, the barrel pointing at the lifeless body to her feet. And he stared at the unknown stranger, and back at her, but she just shrugged her shoulders. "You know I didn't want to." He frowned. "Yeah, you know she can't help it," Davis was suddenly next to him again. "It's in her nature." But Nick only darted him a quick glance before worriedly turning back to his parents again. "I'm so sorry," he started, but his father raised a hand to cut him off. "Son, you know that this is not what we had in mind for you." "I know, Dad, I'm sorry," Nick stammered, but saw his mother still smiling at him. "Oh, Nicky, what your father is trying to say is that we're happy as long as you are." "Thanks, Mum." The music set in, and he felt a hand on his shoulder and another one around his waist, pulling him away and around. They danced. He and Nina, in his parents' garden, with all those people around, watching them, some smiling, some whispering behind their hands, but he didn't care. Gazing at the woman in his arms, who was taking turns in smiling back at him and suspiciously scanning their surroundings. "Can't you at least relax for as long as we're dancing?" he asked her, and she looked at him, surprised, as if she hadn't even been aware of what she was doing. About to say something, she suddenly hesitated, her eyes widening, her hand sliding out of his, clutching her chest. "What's wrong?" he asked, but she just shook her head, letting go of him, standing, faltering, staggering back. "Nina," he tried again. "What's wrong?" But again she just shook her head, still clutching her chest, obviously not able to breathe, stumbling, falling, sinking to the ground. He stared at her but noticed something at the periphery of his field of vision, and turning his head he caught sight of a single man, standing in the distance, his arms hanging down at his sides, his eyes riveted on Nina. Hating eyes, revengeful eyes. Eyes he was going to kill her with, as if his look was choking her. And she had noticed him as well, lying on the grass, almost peaceful now, holding Jack's stare, not struggling anymore, and then, when the color started leaving her face, looking up into the sky, as if trying to catch a last glimpse of it before her eyes would fall shut.
He sat up and instinctively looked around, but no one seemed to pay attention to him, and he quickly wiped some sweat off his forehead. It was always the same dream, and as always, it left him with the same tight feeling around his chest, as if he couldn't get enough air. He loosened the collar of his shirt and moved around in his seat, trying to get into a more comfortable position. Dream interpretation had never been his special field, but it didn't have to be in this case. It was pretty obvious anyway.
He still remembered the first night he had jerked awake, sitting upright in his bed, soaked in sweat, thankful that he was alone. Since then the dream kept coming back. It just keeps coming back.
The flight attendance passed his seat row, and he stopped her to ask for a cup of coffee, but they were about to land. He turned to the window and peered outside, recognizing smaller cities and towns underneath them, and after a while, finally, the airport complex and the runways. The sky was grey, the weather unfriendly, and he wondered what time it was. His inner clock was still on Pacific Daylight time, not on Central European.
¤¤¤
Nina took another sip from the water bottle before throwing it back on the passenger seat and glanced into the rearview mirror. Traffic had been light since she had crossed the border, and her mind and thoughts were drifting more and more, the closer she got to her destination. A part of her still warned her that she was fooling herself, that it could never work out, but there was also a feeling of comfort somewhere.
This is insane, her own words echoed in her head, and there was no one in the whole wide world who could seriously claim the opposite. Only the whole wide world had no idea. If anyone had, they wouldn't understand. She hardly did herself.
I can help you, Nick had claimed repeatedly. What do you have to lose? And she hadn't answered. Neither when he had asked her to think about it, to consider what he had been implying. Instead she had gotten up to get dressed – not without noticing, of course, that it was already the second time she had been in bed with him, and the second time she was fleeing from the scene afterwards. And once again, she had felt angry and annoyed. With herself, with him, with this whole messed up situation.
------------------------FLASHBACK------------------------
"What are you doing?" she remarked dismissively, getting to her feet and turning to pick up her clothes. "Suggesting that we hook up?" She pulled her shirt over her head. Think about it? About what? She had ruled out talking and analyzing, and he had agreed. What else was left? What on earth was he suggesting?
"To get some perspective," Nick countered behind her. "To find something that makes it all worth it, something to put your hopes in. If you remember what that is. Hope?"
She wrinkled her nose as if to say whatever, but she wasn't so sure. Did she?
"You want to leave the past behind?" he went on, "then you need something else to go for."
"And that something would be you?" she cut him off, grabbing her pants to put them back on. "A relationship? Love?" She almost felt like laughing. If it hadn't been so sad. Because he was right, of course, they both needed a new perspective, something to go for. She knew for sure she did and it was obvious he did as well. But there was no way they could…be that perspective for each other, no way they could just look at each other without being reminded of the past, of what they had done or almost done, what she had done most of all. There was no point in even discussing what he was suggesting.
She noticed he hadn't reacted to her mockery and turned around, still holding on to her pants.
He was lying back in bed, not even looking at her, and the expression on his face reminded her all too much of the night before. Burdened, troubled, unspeakably tired. She almost felt sorry for him.
"Look, Nick," she sighed, tilting her head, and shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "You're a good guy."
"I know," he interjected wearily, still staring at the ceiling. "That's the whole problem, isn't it?"
She frowned.
"Otherwise it wouldn't be this complicated. If I were a bit more like you, if I had killed a few people –".
"But you aren't," she cut him off. You haven't.
He sighed, and scrutinizing his expression, she noticed he looked almost pained now.
"I realized something," he said, sounding so sad she abstained from any sneering remark. "I realized…that a part of me was glad when you showed up here."
Because it meant the games could go on, she wanted to comment but once again remained silent.
"Part of me always was, every time we ran into each other. And I always thought I knew why. But…I'm afraid I was wrong. Or not exactly wrong, something just changed."
"What's your point?" she interrupted, starting to lose her patience. She should go.
"My point," he stated, still keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him, "my point is that it's gotten worse."
She didn't understand right away, or maybe something in her just refused.
"I don't want you to leave," he shrugged. "I need you. God help me, but it's true."
She took a deep breath and cast her eyes round the room, trying to take in what he had just said.
"Nick," she started, shaking her head, but he cut her off.
"Forget all the bullshit I've said, all the pseudo-explanations we came up with. It's all a bunch of crap. The lame excuses for why I didn't turn you in, why I helped you…even why you didn't kill me - everything's bullshit."
She raised her brows, surprised by the sudden harshness in his voice.
"You were right about one thing: I felt alive because my life was threatened, and I felt challenged because I saw an opportunity. But my ego had nothing to do with it. After seeing you at Division, I just had to know if there was a part of you that could still feel, have emotions. And once I realized there was, I wanted that part to take over." She could see a sad smile playing around his lips. "I guess I succeeded in some way, and now…now I just…want to make things right."
Of course you do, she thought, rolling her eyes.
"It's always about making something right, isn't it?" she sneered, daring him to look at her. "And now you want to make me right? You want me to regret what I did, to have a bad conscience…to say I'm sorry? We both know there's nothing I can do, but you want me to try anyway?"
Still refusing to look at her, he turned his head an idea, even further away from her, as if he didn't want her to look at him either.
"But it's like I said," she stated, lowering her gaze, and suddenly realizing she was still holding her pants. "You're a good guy. You couldn't even do anything bad if you wanted to. And I'm…," she hesitated, looking for an appropriate word but not finding one. "Well, we both know what I am." There was no way for them to be together.
------------------------FLASHBACK------------------------
She noticed the bump in the road a second before the tire hit it, and bracing herself for the jolt she snapped out of the memory.
She glanced at her watch. Still a good two hours' drive ahead.
¤¤¤
Nick entered the hotel lobby, and took a moment to have a look around. Big signs were announcing the conference, and in case anyone would miss those, the impressive amount of busy-looking conference members roaming the lobby and the neighboring lounge was a pretty good hint. He almost felt invisible in the middle of all this bustling.
He walked up to the reception desk, and after fixing the formalities an overly friendly hotel manager insisted - in flawless English with just an idea of an accent - on having his luggage sent up to his room. Too tired to fight over his one travel bag, Nick let it go, and was glad when he was finally showed to his room and left alone. The bed looked really inviting, but as tempting as the prospect of a good couple of hours of sleep was, he decided to take a shower instead.
A few minutes later, he stepped into the shower stall and let the steaming stream of hot water drum onto his face, shoulders and chest. His stiff body soon relaxed, and he felt the blood circulating in his veins, making his skin tingle and sending a warm prickle through his muscles and up his spine. Even his tired mind came slowly back to life again.
I need you. Forget all the bullshit, all the pseudo-explanations. It's all a bunch of crap, his mind suddenly recalled pieces of their conversation. The conversation they had had all those weeks and months ago, when he had tried to come clean, to unravel the mess they had made with all their analyzing and interpreting, all the hiding and the seeking. Because by then, he had been pretty sure, neither of them had been able to tell the difference between what was true and what was just sounding so convincing that it could be true. There had been too much psychology, too much digging, and too much insecurity - an excellent breeding ground for mutually posed ideas and explanations. He had tried to get to the bottom of things, thinking that if there was anything that needed to be fixed, it was whatever it was that was going on with them.
------------------------FLASHBACK------------------------
"It's like I said," she stated, "you're a good guy. And I'm…well, we both know what I am."
It sounded factual, indifferent, almost casual, and he finally turned his head back around and looked at her. She had put her pants on and was holding his gaze with the same expression on her face that he had figured out that day in the cabin. The sad resignation with which she was stating what was inevitable. Or at least what seemed like it to her.
"Yeah, we do," he uttered, feeling belligerence surging up inside him. "We know what you are. So what? You want a fucking medal?" He had almost chickened out a minute ago, but now he was determined to go through with it. "Or is this supposed to intimidate me?" he continued, encouraged by the way she frowned at him.
"It's supposed to remind you where we're standing," she countered, but he dismissed it.
"No, I think you're trying to avoid what this is really about."
"And what would that be?" she sneered.
"That we need each other. That there's something that keeps us coming back," he explained, overlooking the amused smile she displayed. "You can say whatever you want, you can tell yourself whatever you have to, but you didn't just come back because you needed a reason not to kill me. You could have made that decision from afar. You came back for the same reason I did: you needed someone who understands. We all do, it's one of the most basic human needs. The need to socialize, to be recognized, to be understood. But I don't really have to explain that to you, do I?"
He didn't, of course, she knew it as well as he did. And the way she glared at him a moment longer before looking down confirmed his assumption. Maybe she really hadn't realized it before today, but now she couldn't seriously deny it any longer.
"And that's what you want from me?" she asked, looking up again, and tilting her head back.
He shrugged his shoulders. "It's the best explanation I have right now. Everything that goes beyond that...is too disturbing. You know that, or why else didn't you ask any further? About why I want you to regret, why I want you to…why I'm so keen on helping you."
Again she cast her eyes down, turned her head, let her gaze wander around aimlessly, avoiding him for what suddenly seemed like an eternity.
"I thought so," he almost whispered, his throat dry again, his voice hoarse. Why was he always getting thirsty around her? But he didn't get time to think about it, because she quickly spun around again, glaring at him, her eyes penetrating him.
"You're right," she explained coldly, "it is disturbing. That doesn't mean it's true."
"No, it doesn't," he conceded. "But I can tell you what's true."
She rolled her eyes, as if she wanted to say here we go, but he didn't let it stop him.
"It's true that you've managed on your own so far, but it's also true that at some point that won't be enough any more. And I think you've reached that point now. So, basically, you got two choices: either you put up with me, or you find someone who's just like you."
She didn't say anything, and her expression didn't give away what she was thinking, but the fact that she held his gaze, scrutinizing his expression as if to evaluate the implications of his words, told him they hadn't left her unaffected.
------------------------FLASHBACK------------------------
Nick turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels. He had to smile at the memory. Someone just like you. That prospect couldn't be too tempting. She wasn't loyal to anyone, she had never trusted anyone, and he had doubted that she had ever cared about anyone but herself. What a pairing that would be.
He went over into the bedroom and checked his watch. It was almost ten o'clock. The conference had probably started by now. He reached for the phone to order some breakfast.
¤¤¤
Nina let the door fall shut behind her, and dropped her wallet and the keys onto the little sideboard in the hallway before proceeding into the room. She was traveling light, just one small suitcase, which she dragged along and then lifted up onto the bed. Best to get the unpacking done right away.
She took her coat off and walked over to the closet, opened it, and moved some hangers from one side to the other before she returned to her suitcase. She was done within a couple of minutes, thanks to good routine and practice, and threw a last inspecting glance over her wardrobe. Nothing too fancy, but just the right collection to melt in. Standing out was the last thing she wanted. And in case she had to take off in a hurry, it would be no problem to leave her clothes behind. It was all more or less off-the-peg and bought in different countries. There was nothing that could be traced back to her or even a specific location.
She stowed the suitcase away. She knew there was no way to protect herself one hundred percent, there were no guarantees. But she would do everything in her power not to go down again, and if she did anyway, then at least not because she had been incautious.
She slid her shoes off, and lay down on the bed for a moment, trying to ascertain the state of mind she was in. With some satisfaction, she noticed that she felt good. Confident, calm, and actually… She smiled to herself. Yes, she was good. And lingering in the feeling, she closed her eyes, and her thoughts and mind soon trailed off again.
Everything else is too disturbing, she remembered Nick saying. You know that. Or why didn't you ask why I want you to regret, why I'm so keen on helping you? And she remembered her response as well. You're right, it is disturbing. That doesn't mean it's true. A lame attempt to avoid the issue, to avoid talking about what she had been avoiding. Because it hadn't just been disturbing, it had been unthinkable. And just as impossible to discuss.
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"You got two choices: either you put up with me, or you find someone who's just like you."
He kept looking at her, sitting up in bed now, almost grinning, smirking, and she wished she could just dismiss his words.
"You know how to charm a girl," she finally managed, a sneering smile on her face. "And here I was wondering why you're single."
"So, I take it, you don't want to talk about this either," he countered after a moment, not responding to her mockery.
"There is nothing to talk about," she determined curtly. This had already gone too far, but letting it go even further would be a disaster.
She saw him shrugging his shoulders.
"Then why are you still here? Why do you always stay longer than you had planned? And why do you keep running off afterwards? I mean," he took his turn to sneer, "this situation right now - feels somehow familiar, doesn't it?"
She could hardly deny it. But you can end it.
"Don't get used to it," she remarked dryly, and turned to look for her shoes while he swung his legs out of the bed and sat on the edge.
"I don't get it," he mumbled, burying his face in his hands for a moment. "What are you so scared of?"
Just ignore him, she told herself while putting her shoes on, careful to preserve some dignity.
"You know I'm right," he continued, sounding as if he really couldn't understand why she didn't see things his way. Or rather why she couldn't admit seeing them his way. "You're not even denying it."
She darted him a meaningful look. Because it's not worth it.
"I would understand it if…if you didn't like me."
She turned around. "Like you?" She couldn't but laugh at him. "What is this - sixth grade?"
"Alright, let me rephrase that," he sneered back. "I would understand it if it was because you find me completely unattractive. But we slept together. Twice. And I don't think –"
"You keep repeating that," she cut him off, annoyed yet again. "What do you want? A hug? An engagement ring?"
To her surprise, he just laughed. A sad, but genuine laughter. No mockery, no sarcasm.
"A little less dramatic would do just fine," he said then, getting to his feet and looking around as if he needed to think about what to do next. "I just wish I could get you to…," he shook his head, running a hand over his forehead. "To stop pretending. To admit that a part of you needs this just as much as I do."
He looked up again, and when their eyes met it almost seemed as if he was pleading with her. But just for a second.
"I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm not asking you to love me," he rolled his eyes, "I'm not even asking you to trust me. Hell, I don't trust you either, and just for the record: love has nothing to do with this!"
"I'm relieved," she stated sarcastically, but a part of her was indeed relieved. At least something we agree on.
"I know it's not healthy," he explained glumly. "And I'm perfectly aware that my…needs…are just a product of all my efforts to try and get inside your head and under your skin." She abstained from any comment. It was pointless to deny that he had managed both. "But I need this. For some…sick reason. And we both know you do too."
She was still holding his gaze, trying to maintain an indifferent expression.
"It's that simple," he shrugged. "So, where's the problem? Why can't you just…," he started, but left the sentence uncompleted. "Forget it."
------------------------FLASHBACK------------------------
Nina opened her eyes, and looked up at the ceiling, hearing those last words echoing in her head. It's that simple.
She stayed like this a few moments longer, before rolling over onto her side and reaching for the telephone on the nightstand, quickly dialing a number. She hung up again after the first signal though and lay down on her back again.
I know it's not healthy. Damn right, it wasn't. But I need this. And we both know you do too.
She had long stopped to wonder about the weird turns her life was taking and accepted that certain things were completely beyond her control. But when it came to Nick, she couldn't make up her mind whether she had been in control too much or too little.
She sighed slightly and got up from the bed. Maybe she would never know. But it hardly mattered now. What's done is done, right?
Putting her shoes back on and making her way over to the bathroom to have a quick glance in the mirror, she dialed again.
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Nick sat in one of the comfortable chairs of his hotel room, right in front of the glass wall looking out over the city, and peered through the gray rain curtain. Even now the old buildings looked beautiful, and he realized how much he liked being in Europe again. The continent's variety of nations and cultures fascinated him, and he wondered if his lifetime would be enough to see all of them. Being out traveling again felt good and made him forget the exertions of the long journey to reach his destination.
The phone rang, once, and he frowned and glanced to his watch, but got up, and went to pick up the receiver. Placing it next to the station, he kept the line busy, and returned to his chair. Without taking his eyes off the marvelous view, he reached out to choose another croissant from the rich buffet that the room waiter had brought up and arranged on a tiny breakfast table next to him. He had eaten half of it, when he heard the discreet humming of the electrical lock, and how the door was quickly being opened and closed again. He didn't turn around at the footsteps behind him, light and muted by the soft carpets, didn't react when he heard the key card being dropped onto a table, the receiver being placed back on the station again. Only when he sensed her standing behind him and felt her hand on his shoulder did he look up.
"Hey," he whispered more than said, noticing she was taking in the view as well.
"Hey," she replied, meeting his eyes, her hand still resting lightly on his shoulder. "You look tired."
"It's just been a long trip," he sighed, revealing a thin smile. "Did you have breakfast?"
She sat down and joined him, and later on they went out. Sightseeing was cancelled due to the persistent rain, but they went to a museum and afterwards to see a movie and concluded their little excursion with having dinner at a restaurant. It was already becoming something like a tradition, although it was only the…what, fifth time they met like this? First they would check in separately, sticking to her instructions and precautions, which he sometimes thought were a bit exaggerated, but who was he to argue with her. There was a reason why she managed to move freely without getting caught.
He had objected in the beginning though, trying to convince her that there was no need to constantly violate the conditions of her pardon. After all, there was a reason why those stipulations were in place, and she could be lucky she was at large in the first place. You think I should be in prison, she had stated calmly, and he had said no, while a part of him had been thinking yes. I just think it's taking an unnecessary risk, that's all, he had parried, and although she had given him a meaningful look, she had left it at that. And he hadn't brought the subject up again either, not then and not later. After all, trying to put himself in her position, he could understand that she didn't want to spend the rest of her life in Africa.
She had left his apartment. That morning four months ago, that morning after their second night together, she had left, and since he had been drunk for most parts of the night, he had started to wonder if maybe he had just imagined everything? Dreamt it. Her long confession, her opening up, everything she had told him? Everything that had happened afterwards and in the early morning? He had started wondering but then, two weeks later, he had found a flight ticket in his mail. No letter, no explanation, just a flight ticket. He had used it, of course, and at his arrival found a message that had been left for him at the airport. The name of the hotel and the reservation number. He had taken a cab, and then waited in his hotel room. Later on, he had learnt that she had been at the airport as well, watching him to make sure no one was following him. Not because she had been expecting him to set her up, or anyone to have a reason to suspect he was going to meet her of all people, but you can't be careful enough. Then she had explained the trick with the phone - for the times he would arrive before her. And he had repressed a smile at her casual way of telling him she wanted them to meet again.
She would call once, just one signal. Then wait a minute, and call again. If the line was busy, it meant that he was alone and everything alright. If the phone kept ringing or if he answered, she would know there was a problem. It was simple and efficient and so far there had never been a problem.
She had continued to send him tickets, continued to set the time and place for their meetings. Always in hotels, each time at a different place. Twice in South America, twice in Europe. And always at places where they could easily melt in. This time the conference provided their cover.
The first day they always went out, exploring the city, the culture, and in her case, he was sure, checking out the possible escape routes as well. Although she had probably done that in advance already. He had never asked her, but he guessed that – besides the threat of local law enforcement - she was afraid the incident with Jared and the other guy might repeat itself. Well, not afraid, but she rather reckoned on it happening again instead of being caught off guard. Sometimes he wondered how many people there were who had a reason to kill her. And how many with a good reason. A legitimate reason.
They went to bed early that night, both still tired form the journey, and at first he slept deep and dreamless, like a baby. But some time around four in the morning, he woke abruptly. And he knew why.
It was the fucking dream again.
Careful not to wake her, he got up, and went into the bathroom. Then he returned to the bedroom and stood by the window, watching her sleep. She would get up soon and sneak back into her own room, somewhere on the same floor. Always the lowest floor. He had suggested to get a double room once, to avoid the inconveniencies. But she was right: it was wiser to have separated rooms, for his own safety. Easier to account for as well, if necessary.
Do you ever do anything without planning how to get out of it? he had asked her, lying in bed, and she had smiled that typical sneering smile, tugging at the bedspread and wrapping the covers around her. I got involved with you, didn't I?
He sighed soundlessly and turned to look out the window. He had never thought things would happen the way they had. Love has nothing to do with this, he remembered his own words, remembered them to be true back then. But things had changed since then. He still needed her, he still knew the reason for that was in his past, and he still struggled with his conscience about being with her, about understanding her, about not despising her the way he should. But over the last three months, the nature of his need to be with her had changed. Slowly at first, and subtle, then faster and more distinct. And although she was careful not to give herself away, he knew she was starting to enjoy their arrangement as well. Almost nothing was left of the initial awkwardness, the ineptitude around each other, the way they had almost been embarrassed when they were alone, when they were silent, when they were looking at each other. Now it just felt…it felt good.
Yeah? Then why do you have that same dream over and over again? If you feel so good about this? If there's nothing wrong with it?
He threw his head back and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the voice that kept reminding him. Reminding him how unacceptable the situation was, reminding him every time he was tempted to let it slip his mind. And he knew it wouldn't just stop. His conscience wouldn't just stop reminding him.
Yeah, because I'm a good guy, he thought sarcastically, and darted a glance over his shoulder, turned around to look at her sleeping figure under the bedspread.
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He had come back to bed and eventually fallen asleep again, but she shad sensed him lying awake for a long time, and even now he was restless, tossing and turning next to her. It wasn't the first time.
Lying on her back, she placed a hand under her head and stared up at the ceiling. She had a pretty good idea what he was struggling with. She had tried to tell him, warn him that this was gonna happen. It was inevitable. And she couldn't help but think that a part of her had just gone along with this crazy scenario to prove to him that she was right, that he wouldn't be able to handle it. But that was only half the story. The main reason why she had decided to give it a shot was that he was right as well: she did need him. But only partly because he understood, only partly because she needed at least one person to recognize her for who she truly was. What she needed even more than that was someone to remind her. Of little things, of normal things, of what she seemed to have forgotten.
See, Nina, that's the difference between us. I don't walk around feeling I have to express my gratitude to everyone who didn't kill me.
Because he still accepted that as the rule rather than the exception - not to get shot just like that, without having a say, simply because someone else had other plans.
I got you a doctor because you needed one. I know this sounds weird to you, but in my world it just makes perfect sense.
In hers it didn't. And it had suddenly seemed so sad, never been so clear, never been more appalling.
She had hated him for forcing all these conflicting emotions on her, for making her realize a part of her was still human, still weak. But she had also come to realize that she didn't want to lose that weakness. For a long time she had used to think she already had, and she knew she had been close, but now she owned up to the fact that it would also mean to lose herself. That it would be giving away something she could never get back once it was gone. And maybe she was getting old, maybe she was losing her touch, but she didn't want it to be gone. Not even when it meant that looking at herself in the mirror was sometimes harder, that doing what needed to be done to complete a job or stay alive caused her to have second thoughts every now and then. She needed him because he seemed to be the only linkage between her and the rest of the human species, between her and the leftovers of humanity she still had inside her. And every time they met like this, it was like a vacation, like a trip to some surreal normality that she could dive in for a few days before surfacing again, before returning to reality. The reality of her world.
He had kept his word and not tried to analyze her anymore – or at least he hadn't confronted her with any theories or findings. And they hadn't discussed her past again. It came up occasionally, but mostly in an almost innocent context. Like the times he had told some childhood memory or adolescence anecdote, and more implied for than actually asked her to share something as well.
She was still surprised how easily they had found other things to talk about. She had expected it to be awkward, that they wouldn't have anything to say to each other and nothing to resort to but certain physical activities. Not that she minded those, but they couldn't just have that as a connection. In that case she could just as well look for someone less complicated to be with. Someone who was a bit more like her. But they had cleared that hurdle relatively quickly because he had insisted on them going out and doing something, some kind of cultural activity, sightseeing, a museum, an exposition, anything. She remembered herself being reluctant at first, but also how he had made them joining a bunch of tourists on a guided city tour. Remembered how he had commented on buildings and monuments, revealed a passionate interest for history, and made fun behind the backs of some German holidaymakers. And all of a sudden, she had found herself engaging in a conversation or just listening when he had narrated a legend, stifling a laughter when he made a joke. She had found herself having a good time. And just like that, they had somehow discovered a new way of being together.
It had become something like a ritual now, that first day out, to shake everything else off, to relax, to find each other. The rest of the time – usually a couple of days – they didn't have a program, didn't need one either. Things to do and to say came easy by now, as if it had never been any different. And it was just as easy to forget that it had been. Except for those nights when she could feel him lying awake or sleeping restless. Or the nights when he drank just a little too much and then slept like a log.
She sighed inwardly and shifted a little, wondering what to make of this. She had known being with her would give him something to deal with, she had told him so. But while it could hardly come as a surprise now, and while a part of her was inclined to turn a blind eye on it and let him fight his own battle, she realized she had to deal with it too - sooner or later. And since later could easily turn into too late, sooner was always better. It was obvious his conscience was plaguing him, and at some point, restless nights and too much alcohol wouldn't be the only symptoms anymore. He could probably go on like this for a while - if he should be willing to – but it was only a question of time until it would tear him into pieces. And what's going to happen then?
She didn't think he would go so far as to try and clear his conscience by turning her in, but he would do something.
Of course he will. You thought this would just go on forever?
She made a grimace. Of course not. Everything else would be an illusion. It was a nice retreat they had created, but as all retreats it was a solution of temporary nature. Sooner or later they would have to face reality again. They couldn't just continue like this.
But she realized, right here, right now, a part of her wouldn't mind. Wouldn't mind at all.