Prompt #13: I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye "Affirmation" – Savage Garden
A/N: Pre-series.
Seven.
She wonders if this is how terminally ill patients feel as they near the end. Do they count the days left of their life, the way she's doing now? Do they jealously guard their time with the people they love, the way she does with the family she's not supposed to love?
The words of her handler run on an endless loop through her mind. Extraction. A week from now. "I'm sure you're looking forward to going home," he said, and smiled before touching her cheek. "We've missed you."
Home, she thinks. I am already home.
She has seven days.
Six.
Her hands shake as she tries to prepare dinner. The knife slips; she barely feels it as it cuts her hand. She's numb; maybe she's already dead.
"Mommy! You're bleeding!" Sydney screams, and Jack rushes into the room.
She's unexpectedly teary and stands there looking from her husband to her daughter until Jack takes charge, and gently bandages her hand.
"We'll eat out tonight," he says.
Sydney clings to her. "Mommy, are you okay?"
No, sweetheart, she thinks. We'll never be okay again.
"Mommy's fine," Jack says, and Sydney skips out of the room to get ready for the restaurant.
Five.
She kneels in front of the toilet and somehow just knows that this is more than a stomach bug. There's a part of her that screams denial, because if it's true then she's not just killing Jack's wife, but robbing him of his child.
There's another part of her that thinks it's fair: he will have Sydney, this way she won't lose her whole family.
She contemplates telling him the truth, telling him everything, then decides she can't bear to see him look at her with hate.
Maybe this is for the best, she thinks. At least they'll be safe.
Four.
She can't sleep, can't eat, can't think. She's restless, distracted, unfocused.
She snaps at Sydney, who promptly bursts into tears. Filled with guilt, she hugs her child, whispering apologies and I love you's.
She fights with Jack, and in the next instant kisses him. "What's wrong?" he asks, and she shakes her head.
"Nothing." What's one more lie?
They make love slowly and she tries to memorize the feel of him inside her, above her, the way his kisses taste.
"I love you," she tells him again and again and again.
I'm sorry, she thinks, forgive me, I love you.
Three.
Dear Jack, she writes, there's something I need to tell you, and I can only hope that you'll hear me out. My name is Irina Derevko and I was born in Moscow. When I was seventeen the KGB approached me. For a young woman at that time, it seemed like an incredible opportunity, and an honour to be asked to serve my country. Three years later I came to America to—
Tears cause the ink to bleed and blur on the paper, and she knows she can never tell him this. It's too late to explain.
She burns the letter.
Two.
She watches Sydney sleep. Her beautiful, perfect child. How can she leave her?
She can't bear to think that she'll never see her again, though she knows it's unlikely they'll meet. Sydney is another casualty of a war between two countries who care nothing for the people torn apart in the name of patriotism.
Be strong, my angel, she thinks. Be brave, and know that I will think of you every single day.
Look after your Daddy for me.
She kisses Sydney's forehead; her heart breaks into a million pieces.
"They'll kill you if I stay," she whispers. "Love you."
One.
She counts the hours. Twelve, eleven, ten.
When Jack gets back from work she kisses him so hard that Sydney, wide-eyed, says, "Eww!"
"What was that for?" He smiles.
"Just because."
Four, three, two.
"I have to go. I'll be late for my meeting."
Another kiss. "I'll wait up for you."
She hugs him tight. "I love you."
To Sydney: "Be good for Daddy."
"Yes, Mommy."
She drives away, vision blurred by tears. Jack will be waiting, and then they'll tell him she's dead, and—
Over the bridge. The water is icy, shocking her into survival mode.
Laura is dead.