Chapter five

"We're here." Yusuf lifted the tarpaulin, letting the early morning sunshine stream in. Jack blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. He slipped out from under Irina and stretched, his muscles stiff and sore from the bumpy ride.

"Lately there have been quite a few foreigners passing through town," Yusuf said. "Everyone's coming to India these days. You shouldn't run into any trouble."

"Thank you." Jack looked around. Yusuf was right; his appearance got little more than a passing glance.

"Is this where you wanted to be?" Yusuf pointed to a rundown building across the street; to the CIA safe house Jack had asked to be taken. This would probably be the last time it could be used as a safe house, but Jack didn't have the energy to care about that.

Jack lifted Irina out the truck. She still hadn't woken, but he refused to acknowledge the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach as worry. He turned to Yusuf.

"Thank you again."

Yusuf smiled. "It was my pleasure. May Allah go with you."

He climbed back into the truck and drove off. Jack stood in the middle of the street for a moment, Irina in his arms, then quickly headed into the house and out of sight. Once inside, he carried Irina to the bedroom and set her down on the bed. After checking the doors and windows were secure, he returned to her side and sat next to her. Shaking her shoulder, he said, "Okay. You can wake up now."

He looked at her for a while, his uneasiness growing, then went into the bathroom. He pulled back the shower curtain and turned the faucet. At first the spray was lukewarm, but slowly became colder. Jack re-entered the bedroom and stripped Irina. As he removed the last layer of clothing, he froze. Her abdomen held an assortment of bruises in various shades --

-- his hands skim lightly across her ribcage. She laughs. "Jack, that tickles! --

-- the skin above her left hipbone still red with a newly-healed scar --

-- he traces her bone with his finger, then repeats the action with his mouth. His tongue flicks out, teasing her, and she winds her fingers through his hair to keep him close --

-- bruises on her thighs; long, thin, shaped like fingers --

He fought back his nausea and forced himself to stay calm. He couldn't understand why his cheeks were wet until he tasted salt and realized he was crying. Slowly, he stripped off his clothes, then picked her up and took her into the bathroom. He stepped under the water with her.

His gamble paid off. The shock of the water jolted her from whatever state she'd been in. She gasped and began shivering in his arms. He turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, then discovered there were no towels.

"Jack?"

He went into the bedroom. Holding her against him with one arm, he peeled back the sheets with the other, then helped her lie down.

"Cold."

"Yeah. Sorry." He hesitated only a moment before climbing into bed beside her. He pulled the sheets up and scooted closer to her. "Come here. Let's get you warm again."

As they lay together, skin to skin, sharing body heat, he told himself it wasn't desire that he felt for her.

As her breath fell warm on his neck, he told himself he wasn't relieved she was alive.

Nonetheless, he held her gently, as if she was something fragile and precious. As if she was his wife.

His mouth was hot on her skin, his teeth gently nipping the spot where her shoulder met her neck. She pressed herself closer to him, ignoring the protesting ache of her muscles. His hand slipped between her legs. She gasped, "Jack!"

And then, suddenly, surprisingly, he pushed her away and sprang from the bed. She opened her eyes, still confused. Then, slowly, recognition came. Extraction, Kashmir . . . escape. She pulled the sheet up to cover herself and rolled over so she wouldn't have to see the look of disgust on Jack's face.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed her eyes shut to stem the sudden tears. "I'm sorry. I fell asleep. It was – I don't know. Habit. I'm so used to waking up next to you. Laura. I mean—"

He pulled his hand away and she instantly missed the connection. She wanted to tell him she understood, that she had forgotten too, but instead said, "Why am I naked?"

"Uh, you wouldn't wake up. I put you in the shower hoping the cold water would help."

She heard movement and assumed he was getting dressed. "Where are we?"

"A safe house."

Her hands fisted around the sheet. If they were at a safe house, that meant Jack had contacted the CIA. She didn't want to think about what the CIA would do to her; she was so tired of being in prison.

"Are you hungry?" Jack asked.

"No."

"You should eat something."

"I said I wasn't hungry."

There was amusement in Jack's voice when he replied, "Now you sound like Sydney."

Irina immediately felt the familiar pain lance through her chest. She curled into a fetal position and drew in a deep breath. Jack grabbed her shoulder again, this time rough, and pulled her onto her back. The amusement was gone from his voice.

"You do remember Sydney, don't you?"

Her eyes flew open. From somewhere, she found the strength to retaliate and lunged at him. He grabbed her wrists, forcing her back down, then straddled her, pinning her to the bed.

"How could you do that to her? How could you leave your child?"

"I had no choice." Her wrists burned under Jack's tight grip but she wasn't strong enough to break free.

"What kind of mother are you?" His eyes were almost black with rage, with hate, and Irina couldn't find the voice to reply. She was back in that cell, months earlier, lying helpless as her own body turned against her, killing her child.

-- she holds the infant Sydney in her arms, surprised at how completely she loves her already --

"How could you just leave her?" Jack broke into her thoughts.

"Please." The word was barely a whisper, but took all her remaining strength.

"I should kill you for what you did to her." His hands moved to her neck. She didn't fight him, but kept her eyes on his. The pressure on her neck lightened, but he kept his hands in place. "Fuck."

"I'm sorry," she said. Sorry you can't kill me. Sorry I left. Sorry I hurt you.

"Why?"

"I had to."

He climbed off her, swearing again under his breath. Then he pulled a pair of handcuffs from a drawer.

"Jack—"

"I'm going out to get some food. I don't trust you not to leave."

She didn't have the strength to stand, let alone run away, but she didn't argue. She closed her eyes and held out her hand.

"Maybe you should get dressed first."

She opened her eyes to see Jack holding out a T-shirt and pair of sweat pants. When it was clear she was struggling to put them on, he helped her, his touch once again gentle.

Still, when she heard the familiar click of the handcuffs on her wrist, she couldn't help flinching. Jack cuffed the other end of the handcuffs to the bed post.

"I'll try not to be long," he said.

When he was gone, she let herself cry.